


N1: Fire and Lightning

by Kate_Shepard



Series: Unbreakable [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Biotics (Mass Effect), Drug Addiction, Drugs, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, ICT, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Military Training, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reboot, Rewrite, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, Violence, battle buddies, referenced past suicide attempt, ride or die - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27322042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Shepard/pseuds/Kate_Shepard
Summary: Interplanetary Combatives Training, N School, is known for taking cadets and breaking them down into their component parts. But Lt. Kate "Red" Shepard has been fractured for as long as she can remember. Likewise, Lt. Lukas "Lucifer" Shepherd has a carefully crafted facade to hide the cracks in his foundation. When they end up assigned as battle buddies during N1, can two broken people thrown together in a situation designed to destroy them find a way to forge something unbreakable together?
Relationships: Female Shepard/Male Shepard (Mass Effect)
Series: Unbreakable [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994722
Comments: 24
Kudos: 18





	1. Raise Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This story wouldn’t leave me alone, and judging by the number of requests I’ve had to finish it, I’m not the only one. ;)  
> This is a direct continuance of Red and Blue, which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986157) However, while there is some important characterization in it, it’s not required for this fic. The character intros for Boat Crew Three are [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206158), and the rest of Red's backstory is in that (Red and Black) series.  
> Red and Blue is in its own series simply because there’s a credited co-creator and I have one specifically for collabs since having even one tags co-ownership on the entire series.  
> As some of you may remember, Unbreakable started out as a collab but didn’t work out. It’s mine by mutual agreement; however, I’ve done my best to remove their character and specific personal HCs while keeping the plot and tweaking the details to fit my character instead since there was so much of N1 already written. If I’ve missed something, it’s only because it’s been long enough since we worked on it that I can’t remember every detail of who contributed what or wrote which lines where. Apologies in advance if I left something by mistake. N2 forward will solely be my work.  
> Given that I didn't know whether they'd prefer to be credited or left off, I'd refrained from using names, but it seems they're ok with it, so thank you to [Potionsmaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/potionsmaster) for their contributions.

You can't raise hell with a saint. Young blood, came to start a riot. Don't care what your old man say. Young blood, heaven hate a sinner. But we gonna raise hell anyway. - “Raise Hell” by Dorothy 

* * *

After the cool, wet, overcast Vancouver spring, Rio’s fall was warm, bright, and humid. Red loved it immediately. Driving the motorcycle through the massive city was like taking a trip back in time. All of Brazil had been like that, actually, but she’d expected the city to be more modern. It wasn’t until she reached the base that she felt like she’d returned to her own time period.

She checked in at the gate and got directions to the training facility. The shuttle from the spaceport was just landing as she wheeled her bike in and parked it. Its doors opened, disgorging a clean-cut group of some of the recruits who would be her classmates for the next month and a half; among them a lithe brunette who prowled rather than walked beside a man who looked like he thought this was all a grand joke; a tall, grinning Middle Eastern man; a sour-faced Asian male who held himself apart from the others; a tall, broad-shouldered brunet male with a brooding air to him; a hijab-clad woman with a happy smile and eyes so dark they popped; a tall, willowy blonde woman whose eyes glittered with tears; and a pair of men who could almost be brothers. The shorter of the pair was square-jawed and Husky-eyed, but it was the taller one who caught her eye. 

He was handsome with high cheekbones, a sharp nose, the coldest pair of flame-blue bedroom eyes she thought she’d ever seen, and a full, sinful mouth that smiled like a razorblade. If she got lonely, she wouldn’t say no to a roll in the sheets with him. She and Kaidan had no promises or expectations.

He veered away from the others as soon as they jumped down from the shuttle and caught her eye, his cool gaze giving her a dismissive once-over as she removed her helmet before he turned away. 

She chuckled to herself. Hottie one was the one to beat. This was going to be fun.

She tucked the keys to the bike into her shore bag and slung it over her shoulder before setting the security VI. She did have to admit that the bitch seat was damn useful for travel. Maybe she’d switch it with her own before she sold it. She didn’t need two bikes, but mileage for a 17,000 kilometer journey was ridiculous and it had been cheaper to purchase it outright. Having a place to stow her gear had been helpful…and if Kaidan came down to visit between courses, they could ride again. 

She fell in with the group as they melded with the larger one already there. From the looks of it, she’d been correct in her estimation. There had to be an entire battalion here. She slid between the feline woman and the shorter of the brothers, though a glance at the men’s nametapes told her they weren’t related. Del Rio and…Shepherd, huh? He spelled it wrong.

Two of the cadre, one a tall, burly, dark-skinned man and the other a small, leathery woman with spiky graying hair, ran up, barking orders. It was a good thing she’d donned her uniform that morning because as she’d expected, there was no lead-in. Training started the minute boots hit the ground. The massive group shifted around her, dividing into platoon-sized formations of neat lines without the need for conscious coordination. 

Now she was between the brothers, with the taller one to her right. They dwarfed her, making her feel even smaller than she was. Fine by her. Let people underestimate her. That just meant they wouldn’t see her coming. 

The instructors jogged the lines, shouting in their faces. She stared at the back of the weepy blonde’s head, counting the strands of her hair and keeping her face impassive as the female instructor screamed at the woman. Same old song and dance at each new training base. 

“Are you injured, cadet?”

“Ma’am, no, ma’am,” she sniffed.

“Then what the hell’s wrong with your eyes? We haven’t even started yet!”

“Ma’am, I miss my husband, ma’am.”

“Your _husband_?!” the instructor exclaimed, scowl deepening. “If the Alliance wanted you to have a goddamn husband, they’d have issued you one. But if you miss him so bad, about face and get back in my shuttle! No? Then dry it up, Marine!” 

Finally, the instructors broke off and went to the head of the formation. The woman stepped forward. “Welcome to the suck, recruits. I’m Drill Instructor Torres. This is Drill Instructor Kirkland. You are here because each of you has earned the privilege to _attempt_ to pass my course, but do not think that makes you special. Look around you. By the end of the first week, a quarter of you will be gone. By the end of Hell Week, _three_ quarters of you will be gone. The sound of my bell ringing will follow you into your sleep.” 

_Yeah, yeah. Get it over with already._ Red let the briefing wash over her. She’d heard it half a dozen times by now. The details varied. The purpose and content didn’t. Torres walked them through completing the indoc paperwork on their omni-tools, gave them a rundown on the course and reviewed policies and procedures as the sun beat down on their necks. N1 was little more than indoc. They wanted to see if you could handle the stress. Exhausting, sure, but otherwise easy. 

“Starting from the left, I want every other person to place your hand on the shoulder of the person to your right. This is your battle buddy until you or they quit my program. You will train, eat, sleep, and push with your buddy. If they are in the shower, your ass better be handing them the soap.” 

Shepherd’s shoulder tensed when she reached up to place a finger on it. _Big guy_. Didn’t matter. She didn’t need to see the amp port at the base of his skull to know he was a biotic. She could feel it in the static energy buzzing around him. 

At least he wasn’t another fucking adept like Essex. He felt like a vanguard without the initial _slam_ of energy vanguards tended to carry with them. Sentinel, then, like Kaidan. Torres instructed them to drop their hands and she did so with a relieved sigh. 

Kirkland added, “This may be training, but we are still talking ride or die, cadets. You are not N7s. N1s are not _lone wolves_. You do not go in the field alone. You function _as a team_. If you cannot show us that you are reliable at your teammate’s back in the field, _we do not want you._ It is better to hurt _yourself_ than your battle buddy. If that is not your attitude, _we do not want you_. 

“N1 training may simply be combat simulations, but in the unlikely case that you are invited back for subsequent courses, you _will be_ placed into situations where survival will be determined by your ability to work together. If you do not show us _now_ that you will not get yourself and your buddy killed in that scenario, you _will not_ receive that invitation. Do you understand me?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” rang out from the formation. 

He gave the order to follow and the group broke into a run behind him. Red had to work twice as hard to keep up with Shepherd and del Rio’s long-ass legs, but what she lacked in stride, she made up for in speed and stamina. They’d eventually outpace her, but not for a few miles and not for long. She’d be outrunning them by the end of the course, or she’d be damned. 

Kirkland ran them to the med center where they submitted to physicals and immunizations, the supply building where they were issued their gear and went through the routine of pouring everything out onto the pavement for inventory before stowing it again, the chow hall where they had five minutes to wolf down every calorie they could hold, and then the PT field where they’d lose the majority of what they’d taken in. Red dropped her shore bag beside the pile with the others and chased the brothers onto the field. More cadre stood waiting with water hoses in hand. Thank gods. It was fucking hot. 

She was rethinking her gratitude two hours later when the sharp spray hit her full in the face again. She was already soaked from head to toe, with water squishing in her boots as she placed her hands on the wet ground and kicked her feet out before bringing them back and standing again. Fuckin’ burpees were her _thing_ , man, but fuck that water in her face. She couldn’t breathe. At least the not-brothers weren’t having as easy of a time of it. More body mass to move where she was compact enough to conserve energy. 

Mirshowani had lost his grin. He flinched subtly every time a hose went off. _Should be interesting to see how long he lasts_. Shepherd noticed, ducking his head to hide a superior little sneer when the instructors looked at him.

Asshole had probably been the captain of the football team, frat boy, silver fucking spoon in his mouth all his life. He knew he was hot, didn't bother trying to hide it. Adept or not, he was gonna be Essex all over again, she could feel it in her bones. 

And, ugh, she had to share a room with him. Every fucking chick in their class was going to end up traipsing through it at some point, guaran-fucking-teed. Bad enough she had to share her space with him. She didn’t want a bunch of strange bitches leaving their underwear lying around and stealing her toothbrush.

Burpees gave way to flutter kicks and from there to sit ups and push ups and slaloms and...she lost track. She shouldn’t have spent so much time on the road. More than seventeen thousand kilometers on a goddamn motorcycle was exhausting even if she’d paced herself. _Too fuckin’ bad,_ she scolded herself. At least she wasn’t the only one who was spent. _Buck up, soldier._

This was just day one. No way was she pussing out already. It wasn’t the worst day she’d ever been through and certainly wouldn’t top the list in training. At least she didn’t have a trio of bullets in her back this time. Ahead of them, the feline woman and the laughing man moved in tandem, reading each other well enough to make her suspect they’d fought together more than once before.

The instructors ran them to a series of thick wooden poles lying in the damp sand on the nearby beach. Log PT. Eight people to a hundred and fifty pound log meant that as long as everyone carried their own weight, the task would merely be uncomfortable rather than torturous. 

Their teams were determined by who reached each log first, so Red found herself significantly shorter than most of her teammates. The not-brothers, the sour-faced Asian guy who was del Rio’s buddy, the weepy blonde, and three others she hadn’t seen before made up what the instructors titled their boat crew. 

The instructors ran through the proper way to pick up the log and her team followed along, managing not to jostle or drop it in the process. Unfortunately, that left her and the other females reaching up for it instead of letting it rest. They wouldn’t last long like that.

Torres came around with her omni-tool open and barked, “Shepard, you’re team lead.”

“Ma’am, which one, ma’am?” she and Shepherd asked together. 

“ _You_ , shorty.You’re the most decorated one here. You’ve got a Star of Terra. Surely, that means you know how to lead a team, right?” she replied archly. 

No. No, that absolutely did not. As if reading her mind, she heard the other Shepherd snort and mutter something about a photo op. Fuck him. Arrogant asshole. The instructors could spew their rhetoric all day long about putting her buddy before herself. No way in hell that was ever going to happen. He wouldn’t do it for her. Probably wasn’t capable of it, spoiled son of a bitch that he was. She had no one to rely on here but herself. Which was just fine with her. Didn’t matter now, though. Now, they had to carry this damn log and that meant she needed to redistribute people. 

“Ma’am,” the weepy blond, Rheinscheld, said timidly. “Wouldn’t it be better to divide us up by height rather than at random?”

Torres scowled. “You think war’s going to let you choose your team for convenience? Hell, no. You fight with the people you have. Adapt and overcome, cadet.”

“Del Rio, Shepherd,” Red said, her hands planted on the log above her head. “Switch to the ends. Leng, in the center. Lower the log so the shorter ones of us can take more of the weight.”

Del Rio and Shepherd moved to the ends, cradling the log so that it could rest on the others’ shoulders. That wouldn’t work for very long. Their forearms would give out. She was going to need to find a different solution. She eyed her teammates. Most were long-legged, but their torsos were roughly the same size. The instructor _did_ say to adapt and overcome. That implied that she wanted creativity. If they sat, it would bring them roughly even. Enough so that the height differences wouldn’t be _as_ extreme.

“On the count of three, everybody take a knee,” she said. “One...two...three.”

Red, del Rio, and Shepherd knelt, but the others hesitated, resulting in the rest being forced to their knees by the weight of the descending pole. Leng threw his shoulder against it and the rest of them fought to keep the balance steady so the heavy log didn’t slam into Rheinscheld’s head when it fell. 

If the stupid woman had been on the right side of it, it would have been fine. Instead, it toppled, grazing the blonde’s head before sliding through their grip. A thick splinter slid silkily through the meat of Red palm, burying sand in the wound and leaving fire in its wake. The log slammed into del Rio’s belly and he doubled over, making a valiant effort to maintain a semblance of control over it. The end slipped from his hands and Red pushed in an attempt to keep it from landing on his feet. Shepherd apparently had the same idea because it fell onto the sand a few feet away with a dull thud. 

“ _Mother_ fucker…” Shepherd muttered. 

“God damn it, Leng!” she barked. “Are you incompetent or just an asshole? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Don’t blame me for this. _I_ was trying to help,” Leng snapped. “Redistribute the weight. If you don’t understand, that’s not my problem.”

“Understand what? Basic physics? You chickened out and almost broke Rheinscheld’s neck. If that’s how you help, we’re fucked. Guess we know who the weak link is,” she said dismissively. “Everybody ok? Del Rio? Rheinscheld?”

The blonde rubbed the side of her head and glared at Leng. “I’m okay. Just clipped me. I thought you meant _after_ three, not _on_ three.” 

Red struggled not to roll her eyes. ‘ _On_ the count of three’ should have answered that question. _Attention to detail._ Leng wasn’t the only weak link in this fucked-up chain. And it was her job to forge them all together. Fuck Elysium and that goddamn Star. At least the instructors were at the end of the row, focusing on another boat team. Their gaffe hadn’t gone unnoticed, she was sure, but they’d gotten a pass. This time.

She stared them down as she extracted the splinter with her teeth and spat it on the ground, watching them shuffle uncomfortably. Except Shepherd. His steady gaze met hers for a moment before she saw del Rio push himself up. 

“Alright?” she asked del Rio.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he huffed. “Let’s try to avoid a repeat performance, though.”

“Agreed,” she said. “Try again. Left hand under the log, right hand on top. _On_ three, lift it to your shoulders. Then, we’re going to take a knee. After that, we sit and that will put us roughly even. Everybody ready? One...two...three.” The telephone pole bobbed a little as they lifted it but stayed relatively even. Better, even if it did put her holding the damn thing above her head rather than braced on her shoulder. 

“ _On_ three, go onto your _right_ knee.” She shouldn’t have to fucking baby step them through this. Wary of another mishap, they eased down together on three. Apparently, breaking it down Barney-style was what they needed. That meant micromanaging. _Fuck_. She _hated_ micromanaging.

“Can we handle sitting down or do I need to walk through that, too?”

“Oh, aye? You gonna tell us how to lie down tonight, too, and read us a bedtime story?” Shepherd scoffed.

Fucking ass. “Do I need to, or can you figure that one out on your own?”

Shepherd scoffed. “Think I’m good, pal. Carry on.”

She couldn’t contain the eyeroll this time. Asshole was going to make her miss Essex. 

“Sit on three.” 

Apparently, she _did_ need to baby step it because the goddamn pole slammed into her shoulder as the group sat, but a look forward and behind told her that they were close enough that it was no longer hanging in the air above some of their heads. She could work with this. 

Torres walked over to them and lifted a brow, but didn’t object to her method. “Four count lifts. Up, center, right, down, reverse.” 

The instructors’ voices rang out in perfect cadence: _one two three four, one two three four_. Leng, two people in front of her, was slacking. Big fucking surprise. He was going to be trouble. Everyone else worked more or less together, not perfect, but not terrible for a first attempt, especially as spent as they already were. _Embrace the suck, Red._

Rheinscheld’s arms trembled as they lifted the pole overhead and a stocky brunet male whose name she hadn’t caught tried to wipe his forehead on his sleeve. The heat made her miss being sprayed in the face. She needed to pull them together or they were going to crash again. The weepy blonde was the absolute weakest in the team, so she started with her. 

“Rheinscheld, where you from?” she asked. 

“Oklahoma,” the blonde answered shakily. 

“You got family waiting back home, right?” Red would have thought she’d be used to being away from them by now. 

“My husband and my...my son,” she sniffed. 

Family was always the weak spot with women like her. She needed to suck it the hell up. Red was sure she wasn’t the only one who’d left people behind when she came to Rio. 

“You, in front of her. What’s your name, where you from?” she asked the stocky brunette. 

“Bradford. Terra Nova. Got parents and a sister,” he answered. 

“What about you, Shepherd?” she asked. “England, but what part?”

He was her fucking battle buddy, unfortunately. And that meant she had to get to know him at least a little. It’d look odd if she didn’t.

“‘Appen,” he said noncommittally. “Del Rio’s boyfriend’s goat farm is more interesting than where I’m from, though.”

“C'mon, Shepherd,” she huffed, lifting the log again. _One two three four._ Why was he deflecting? “Easy question. I’m not asking about del Rio’s boyfriend. Where are you from?”

“North. You know Leeds?”

“Nope. Never been to England. You know of Chicago?”

“Yeah. Went to basic training there. Lakes like fuckin’ ocean and twice as bloody cold.”

“Yeah, they are. Del Rio and I are practically neighbors. Don't even have to ask where he's from. You can take the guy outta New York….”

Del Rio chuckled. “My accent isn’t _that_ bad.”

“Not a bit. ‘Hey, guys. Name’s Jaahny. Any a you’s from New Yow’k?’” Holy shit, her battle _did_ have a sense of humor.

“That’s a bad Jersey accent, and it’s Johnny,” del Rio fired back. 

“Children, please…” Leng cut in. “ _Some_ of us are trying to train. Though if you want to drop, be my guest. Less competition for me.”

That sucked whatever rapport was developing right out of them. Red snorted. Perfect opening for her, though. He really was weak. “Ah, I see. Can’t make it otherwise. Gotta lower the playing field to your level in order to succeed, hmm? Someone was drunk when they sent your invite. Del Rio, your boyfriend keep those goats in New York?”

A flush dripped down the back of his neck. “Nah. He’s, ah. He’s here, actually.”

“That must be nice,” Rheinscheld said.

“You. In front of her. What about you?”

“It’s just me. No family,” he answered.

She debated for a moment. Her usual game involved getting to know people without letting them know her, but that didn’t work as well in a leadership position. People wanted to follow people they thought they knew, not a stranger. And what did it matter if they knew she didn’t have family? Just eliminated a possible weak spot. The benefit of possibly developing a rapport with one of her new guys far outweighed any risk of revealing a small part of her past. 

“Same,” she said, hefting the log again as sweat plastered damp strands of hair to her forehead. Let them take that how they would. 

“Leng, what about you? You got a mamma somewhere or did hell just belch you up out of the ground?” When it got right down to it, she didn’t give a shit about the _stronzo_ , but she couldn’t force his cooperation and she couldn’t kick him out. That meant she had to find a way to deal with him until he broke. 

Maybe Kaidan would have some ideas… _No, Red. Don’t go there. Not now._ She needed to focus on the moment; be here, not in Vancouver. She couldn’t afford to start thinking about him now. He probably _could_ give her some advice, though. As an instructor. Hell, he’d managed _her_ , hadn’t he? That was all it was.

“Of course I have a mother,” Leng sneered. “What does it matter where she is?”

This was going to be a _long_ eight weeks. _I’m here. Might as well have some fun._ Fucking with Leng would qualify. _Push him to see how far you have to go to break him. Speed the process up. Shouldn’t take much. An attitude like that can only mean he’s incompetent and he knows it_.

Shepherd snapped, “Not a damn thing, but pack in the fucking attitude. This is tedious as fuck without you being a little bitch about everything.” 

_Or there’s that...so much for unit cohesion. The fuck are you playing at, Shepherd?_

“Apparently, you skipped the most basic levels of training, Leng,” Red said. “See, when people go into battle with you, they want to know you’re reliable, that you’re gonna watch their backs. Part of the way the majority of humans determine that is by getting to know a person. Therefore, it fucking matters, especially when the entire damn point of this exercise is clearly _teamwork_. Wanna win or do you want to fail because of your goddamn pride?”

Leng’s back stiffened. “Of _course_ the point is teamwork. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have the training. But at the end of the day, we’re rivals. We aren’t friends. I don’t care about your sob stories.” 

“And now we know everything we need to know about this arsehole,” Shepherd grunted. “He’s neither use nor ornament.” 

“Leng, a tip? If you really want to make it to N7, you should probably _actually_ train rather than just talk about it. Woodcock’s been doing your work and hers and she’s half your size,” Red said, hefting the log with the group. “But if it’s too hard for you, the bell’s right over there. Either use it or pull your weight. We aren’t here to carry you through.”

Their labored breathing perforated the air as they heaved the log in time to the DIs’ constant chant. _One two three four one two three four_. Rheinscheld’s arms started to shake under the strain. Shepherd huffed and the log moved a little easier.

“‘Ey up, pussies. No excuse to be tired yet. We’re just getting started!” he called.

 _Fucking ass_.

Yep. She needed to keep an eye on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover image from Pinterest


	2. Irresistible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy N7 Day!

Too many war wounds and not enough wars. Too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores. Too many sharks, not enough blood in the waves. You know I give my love a f-f-four letter name. - “Irresistible” by Fallout Boy

* * *

The sun was rising again when the instructors finally called them off the PT field and led them to the barracks. When she stopped in front of the door to her room with Shepherd looming behind her, Kirkland said in a bored tone, “Names.”

“Sir, Staff Lieutenant Katherine Shepard, sir.”

“Sir, First Lieutenant Lukas Shepherd, sir.” 

Kirkland blinked at them. “Two Sheps, huh? How’d I miss that one? Oh, well. Works for me. Only one name I have to call when I want you both. Otherwise, you’re femShep and mShep now. Go in, get your shit squared away and be ready for inspection and chow at 1200.”

“Aye aye, sir,” they said together. 

The barracks room was laid out like a standard dorm with one twin bed near the door with its head against the wall and the other tucked into the far corner by the window. A pair of wall lockers bisected the room with armor lockers across from them. 

Red moved past the first bed and tossed her shore bag onto the one by the window, noting the pair of desks tucked against the wall. Shepherd shrugged and dropped his gear at the foot of the other. Ignoring him, she dumped out the contents of her bag and began neatly stacking them in the wall locker nearest her bed. The sooner she unpacked, the sooner she could get a shower and maybe catch a few minutes of sleep before chow. 

“Dibs on the shower.”

Or not.

He breezed past her and locked the door, leaving his shore bag at the foot of his bed. Greedy bastard. She pursed her lips and looked over her side of the room. There was one more thing she wanted to do before she crashed and now was the perfect time to do it while she had the room to herself. She booted up the console on her desk, swiftly hacking into the Alliance records and searching _First Lieutenant Shepherd, Lucas, ICT_. 

_No results found._

She tried Lukas with a ‘k’ and an ID picture of her battle buddy popped up with a short dossier.

_Got you…_

**_First Lieutenant Shepherd, Lukas._ **

_Service number: 7923-AC-2827_

_Born: 31 Oct 2153; Felicity, Mindoir colony._

_Class: Sentinel_

_Joined: 31 Oct 2171_

_Notes: The only known survivor of the 2170 Mindoir raid, Lt. Shepherd was rescued by the SSV Einstein. He was remanded into the custody of an aunt and uncle and spent the rest of the year in Leeds, England, Earth. Shepherd’s aunt and uncle were killed in a skycar accident on his eighteenth birthday, and he joined the Systems Alliance Navy the same day._

She closed out of the system and went online, searching for information on the Mindoir raid. It was no wonder he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. The images she found were gruesome, but what was somehow worse were the images taken in places where people should have been. 

The first article she found was bland, but to the point:  
  


 ** _Mindoir_** _,_ _Imir System, Eagle Nebula, Attican Traverse_

_Garden World, Human_

_Capital: New Paris_

_Orbital Distance: 1.1 AU_

_Orbital Period: 1.7 Earth Years_

_[_ _tap to expand_ _]_

Overview _: The human_ **_colony_ ** _Mindoir focuses heavily on agriculture. The planet is somewhat similar to Earth’s arid plains ecosystems, though the sky is pink rather than blue and its grasses are silver. Primary crops are purple wheat, maize, root vegetables, and plentiful fruits. Settlement accords require that only native crops be…[_ _tap to expand_ _]_

History: _Founded in late 2152, Mindoir is the third extrasolar_ **_colony_ ** _founded after Demeter and Terra Nova, and the second beyond the Charon Relay. In 2170,_ **_batarian raid_ ** _ers attacked the_ **_colony_ ** _in a well-executed surprise raid. Large settlements, such as New Paris, Lucerne, Strasburg, and_ **_Felicity_ ** _, were the first targeted. Though the Systems Alliance immediately dispatched its colonial outpost, the incoming forces were too strong…[_ _tap to expand_ _]_

She hadn’t heard about the Mindoir raid. She’d been sucking red sand up her nose and fucking people for her next meal and a roof over her head when it had gone down. _Huh_. Maybe they had a little more in common than she’d thought. Didn’t make him any less an asshole, but not a rich playboy if what was left of the colony was any indication. So, then, who the hell _was_ he? 

The water stopped, so she closed out the terminal and rummaged in her wall locker for a towel. She’d read more later. Shepherd unlocked the door and ignored her, towel knotted tightly around his trim waist as he started unpacking his shore bag. 

_No small talk_. _Thank the gods for small favors._ Maybe they could survive the next few weeks together after all. 

Everyone he knew had likely died or been captured. Fuck if she didn’t know what that was like. 2170 put him a little older than she’d been when the shit with the Reds went down. At least he’d been old enough to do things she hadn’t been, like get a job on his feet instead of his back and drive a car. 

Why had he joined the Alliance? Nowhere else to turn after his aunt and uncle died? Trying to protect the innocent or get revenge? Probably the latter. He was an asshole the same way she was a bitch. Easier to be ruthless than to give a shit and _far_ easier to get revenge than to forgive. Fuck that noise.

Had he been the one to find the bodies of his family like she had, or were they just _gone_? She shook her head as she bypassed him, carrying her toiletry kit to the bathroom, trying to expel the images of her dead that insisted on overlaying the pictures she’d seen. Each child reminded her of one of her own; every young man bore Alex’ face. She leaned against the closed door with a frown. She couldn’t afford to think about this shit. This wasn’t about _her_. It was about figuring him out because he was now an unknown.

How was it that he was alive when no one else was? How the fuck did a seventeen-ish year old boy survive something like that? She’d seen the batarians in action on Elysium. She knew just how much firepower they could throw at a target and the kind of numbers they brought with them. Of course, the Blitz had been an exaggerated example, so it probably hadn’t been _that_ extreme, but for a farm kid that age to withstand something like that… Had he fought back or hidden? Did he actually _see_ his family die? That, at least, was something she’d been spared. If she’d had to watch…no way in hell she’d be even remotely sane. 

She slammed the door on that train of thought. 

No sense wondering about it. He wouldn’t tell her if she asked, and she didn’t blame him. That shit wasn’t hers anymore than hers was for him. Sometimes, her curiosity was more of a detriment than a benefit. Gods knew if she didn’t stop thinking about… _shit that’s dead and buried, Red. Leave it…_ she’d be tossing and turning for the few minutes when she’d actually be able to sleep if she hurried and got her fucking shower. No more dead kids. No more ancient history. _Here and now, Red. Here and now._

She arranged her toiletries, noting with some relief that Shepherd hadn’t left a mess behind. They’d be living together for at least the next eight weeks and possibly longer if they both got invited back for the same N2 course. If he proved to be a tolerable roommate and a halfway decent battle buddy, she’d rather keep things the way they were. _The devil you know…._ Gods knew that even finding tolerable and halfway decent was a crap shoot. 

She sank down onto the closed toilet lid as the reality of her situation finally hit her. Her muscles were jellied and screaming. Her uniform was stiff with dried sweat. Her feet felt as if they were filled with lead and she wasn’t sure if she _actually_ had sand in her eyes or if she was just that exhausted. She certainly had it everywhere else. She was dying for a cigarette but too tired to drag herself outside to smoke. None of that mattered. She was _here_. 

_Holy shit. I’m at ICT_.

~*~*~ 

Lukas sank down onto the bed, his weary muscles protesting even that movement, and stacked his hands behind his head, listening to the water running in the next room. Shepard. She spelled it wrong.

He’d hoped he’d pushed himself into exhaustion and would simply fall into sleep, but he should have known better. 

_I’ll sleep when I’m dead._

Maybe then he’d find some peace. Maybe then he could close his eyes without a bloody snuff film playing in front of them, gore splashing his lids and blood pooled so deep against his lashes it was a wonder he didn’t cry it out as tears. 

He never cried. Tears required emotions, and he couldn’t _feel_ anything. Even when the police came and told him Aunt Julia and Uncle Vasili were dead, he’d been blessedly numb. There was only so much grief a body could carry before it was burned away. Rage, on the other hand, rage was an infinite pool he could return to over and over again. Julia had nailed it. Better than grief, rage was useful. And when he didn’t need it, numbness sufficed.

Fuck, why was he even thinking about this? Nosy little lass, pushing into shit best left buried. At least he’d managed to deflect her. The Alliance’s new show pony was bloody relenetless. She’d badgered all of them until she’d gotten at least something from all of them. 

The shower turned off, and a few moments later, she came out wrapped in a towel that barely covered her arse. He didn’t make a point of looking, but he couldn’t deny he liked what he saw. He’d seen her strength already, so he’d expected her to be toned, but the girl was _cut_. She could probably crush a man’s skull with quads like that. And when she went back into the latrine for something, reaching up to shake out the wet riot of curls that tumbled in flames to her waist, the splatter-paint phoenix on her back seemed to unfurl its wings and scream. 

She was hot. He could admit it. Maybe not in the way of that spook, Pastore, he’d come in on the shuttle with, but hot all the same. Pastore invited fantasies of slow, sensual sex that involved curled toes and sweet things drizzling over heated skin, pink tongues and full lips taking their time before finally getting to where he wanted it to be. 

There was nothing slow about Shepard. A vanguard to her core, even her biotics slammed into him, leaving no doubt about what she was. No, Shep was fire and heat, passion that burned sulfur-bright, brilliant green eyes that seared to the core and stripped a man bare, left him wondering where he’d left his brain and what his fucking _name_ was. Shepard didn’t make love. She fucked. Hard and wild. He’d bet his next paycheck on it.

Maybe he should find out. 

Nah. He didn’t have time for that shit. Besides, for all the heat of her body, she was a bitch. He preferred to at least like his partners enough not to be hate-fucking them. 

“You don’t 'ave to cover up on my account,” he drawled.

“Okay.” 

She unwrapped the towel and dropped it over his face as she walked past his bed. He yanked it off, not wanting to miss the view if she was willing to show it, and tossed it onto her bunk. 

_Hot damn_. He rethought the decision not to shag that. Tight arse, pert breasts, ink decorating her skin, and that _hair_. He had a vision of it wrapped around his fist as he fucked her from behind and shifted so she couldn’t see its effect. 

He didn’t even care that her nose was a little too aquiline and her jaw was a little too square. She wasn’t classically pretty. Pretty was for pictures. She was _interesting_ , capturing the eye and holding it, and that was in his opinion—and who gave a shit about anybody else’s, really—better than the kind of pretty that the gaze slid pleasantly over without snagging on something like Pastore’s. 

Did it really matter if her personality sucked when he was just going to hit it and quit it anyway? 

She dressed in a pair of thick Alliance sweats that made him feel hot in a much less comfortable way just from looking at her, and he almost started sweating on her behalf when she climbed under the covers. He was still laying on top of the blankets in nothing but his briefs and he was contemplating turning the thermostat down. 

“Lights off.”

They plunged into darkness, the only illumination coming from the window above her bed. He stared up at the barred shadows on the ceiling, listening to her breathe. From the corner of his eye, he saw her shift, putting her back against the wall, and finally heard her breathing slow. So that was why she took that one. Defensive positions even in her home space. What was the little lass afraid of?

None of his business. He didn’t care. He didn’t need to know her. He didn’t _want_ to know her. Solitude suited him just fine. What he did need was sleep.

ICT. Fucking ICT. He’d made it. 

~*~*~

The end of the first week found him in the middle of the most asinine and ridiculous beef he could have asked for. Tempers were frayed, that was understandable, but this was borderline insane. 

“ _No,_ ” he snarled.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s on my side, and I said no.”

“You are _such_ an asshole!”

“Why am _I_ the arsehole? I just want to be able to sleep!”

“So do I! It is two goddamn de _grees_ ,” she ground out. 

“Put on a hoodie. Biotics run _hot_. Which means it needs to be _cold_. I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with you, but it ain’t my bloody fault and I’m not suffering for it.”

“And how the fuck am I supposed to sleep when I’m over here shivering my fucking ass off? I’m not bundling up so much I can’t goddamn _breathe_ just so you can have a fucking blanket on _and_ the room freezing. Running hot doesn’t help when you _radiate_ all of it off of you. You keep it that cold, I’m opening the fucking window. I’m not asking for a goddamn sauna. I’m asking for not-a-fucking- _icebox_.”

“When have you ever seen me under the blanket? Here-” he tossed his hoodie at her side of the room. “Hell fire, twenty degrees is not a goddamn _icebox_ , you nesh sod!”

She scoffed as the heavy fabric hit its mark. “‘Nesh sod.’ Really? That’s the best you could do?”

“Be rude to call you a cunt to your face before I get to know ya.”

“But muttering it at my back every time you don't like a call I make is the height of manners. _Riiiight_.”

She wanted to go there. _Alright, luv, let’s do this._ Maybe the temperature wasn’t what this was really about. Fucking women. Why couldn’t they just say what they meant? 

“I don't say you're a cunt. What I say is you’re a show pony the brass has got trotting around. That star you got is nothing better than a shiny halter.”

He swore she dropped the temperature all on her own when she spoke. “ _Ohhh_. Is _that_ the problem? You think I'm here for, what, PR?” She scoffed again. “How, exactly, do you think I got that goddamn _star_?”

“All I’m saying is you weren’t there alone. You got where you are standing in the blood of dead colonists and you just walk around here like you’re some kind of fuckin’ hero. The rest of us actually had to work to be here.”

“Erickson, Jarvis, Davis, Hart, Kaddu, Pahman, Childress, Abbott, Hodge, Kennemore, Medley, Vernon, Watts, Bradshaw…” The disdain dripped from her mouth. “Want me to keep going? I can list 'em all. You want the order they fell in, too, and how? And when they fell, what do you think stood between ten thousand _batarian_ raiders and a million scared _colonists_ for five fucking hours till the Alliance finally arrived?” 

“You can memorize. Huzzah. For all I know, you just pulled a list of names out your bum. And what about the other settlements out there fighting and dying without you?” 

He could hear her sneer in the dark. “You don’t follow much, do you? There was only one settlement getting attacked. The batarians centered their raid on Illyria, meaning that once the walls were breached and the soldiers and security forces were down, the colonists broke and retreated to the bunkers. Which put _me_ between the civilians and the invading ground forces. And I held. _Because_ it was my fucking job. So, now, tell me again what you've done, cupcake.” 

He snorted derisively, his voice hard. “That’s classified. You did your job after they fell. That’s it. The thermostat is on my side of the room. Touch it and I flay you with my brain. _Cunt_.”

Thick cloth bashed on his head. His hoodie. “Green isn't your color, _caro_. Keep the thermostat and keep your hoodie. Windows are on _my_ side of the room. Touch them and I'll choke you with my shiny halter.”

He laughed aloud at that. “See you at reveille.” 

The chirp of cicadas, distant susurration of the ocean, and white noise of the base filled the room along with dank, muggy air. Bloody hell.

“Sweet dreams, princess,” she said cheerfully.

“I. Will. _Murder._ You.”

“Good luck, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.” She rustled under the covers, settling in.

“Gonna punch me in the knees, lit'le bit?”

“Oh, I can reach a little bit higher than _that_ , babycakes.” 

He shook his head and rolled over, huffing an amused sigh. Now that that was cleared up, maybe she’d lose the attitude and they could focus on training. 


	3. Everything's Gonna Be Alright

Everything's gonna be alright. And nobody's gotta worry 'bout nothing. Don't go hittin' that panic button. It ain't worth spilling your drink. Everything's gonna be alright. - “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright” by David Lee Murphy and Kenny Chesney

* * *

<Chat Request>

<to: krshepard@alliance.xnet>

<from: kyalenko@alliance.xnet>

KA: <Hey, gorgeous.>

KS: <Hey, yourself, tesoro. Been missing you. How’s it going?>

KA: <Miss you, too. About the way you’d expect. You?>

KS: < Same with the long days. Roommate’s a sentinel this time, but just as big an ass as Essex.>

KA: <Oh no. At least you know how to deal with him. Are you having to do all the work for inspections with him, too? Have you pinned the corners of his sheets yet?>

KS: <Corners of his mouth, maybe, if he doesn't quit running it. He can make a bed, at least. Though, he does keep the AC set to Noveria. Which is fine. Windows are on my side.>

KA: <In Rio in summertime? You are evil, lol. I guess if that’s the worst you do to each other, it’s a win. I just had to make two cadets clear shrimp out of the air vents before one of the other candidates breathed it in and keeled over on me. Fools thought it was a funny prank, stink up the room. Didn’t bother to make sure nobody in the room was allergic.>

KS: <Gross… At least he doesn’t do that. Or leave toothpaste in the sink.>

KA: <Thank God for small favors. How’s everything else?>

KS: <Our illustrious drill instructor in her infinite wisdom decided *I* should be team lead for my boat crew. I'm supposed to pull these people together into a team and... I have no idea how to do that.>

KA: <Yes, you do. I taught you. Find their strengths.>

KS: <Having trouble finding strengths with this crew. We've got one chick who does nothing but cry. Another guy who's determined to tear apart any semblance of unit cohesion to stroke his ego. The asshole sentinel constantly trying to take over.>

KA: <Try harder. There’s always something worthwhile, even in an Essex. Does the asshole undermine you?>

KS: <He did a time or two in the very beginning, but seemed to catch himself>

KA: <Make him your XO. Give him responsibilities. Let the others see you working as a unit. The others will fall into line or get cut.>

KS: <You're brilliant, tesoro. If he's going to do it anyway and they're going to listen, might as well make it my idea...>

KA: <You can do this>

KS: <And the undermining narcissist? Any suggestions on him besides drowning?>

KA: <Push him. He’ll either step up or tap out. His choice.>

KS: <Pushing till he breaks was my go-to after drowning. Are you sure I can't try the latter? Surf passage, boats capsizing, oars flying around. Anything can happen, really... I know that sounds terrible, but if you met him, you'd want to kill him, too>

KA: <Kate. Remember the chain analogy? Do I need to ask for my report?>

KS: <My links are broken and rusty>

KA: <Then forge them.>

~*~*~*~*~

The black skin of the zodiac was hot against Red’s palm. She stood at the stern of the inflatable with mShep in front of her beside Alphabet. The rest of the team lined up in front of them in descending height order with Bertram at the bow. Shepherd, del Rio, Leng, and Rheinscheld were the only ones who’d survived the first week.

Around them, other boat teams were similarly positioned, waiting on the instructors to give the order to enter the water. Surf passage. Hopefully, this time went better than the last ones. Thus far, they’d come in second to Morley’s team every time. And what was second place? First fuckin’ loser. As the instructors delighted in reminding them every time.

The problem was that it wasn’t just one problem. The end of week two and they still lacked unit cohesion. Fucking Rheinscheld was _still_ crying every goddamn day. Leng seemed determined to fuck everything up, preferring to look bad himself as long as it made the rest look worse than have anyone outperform him. 

Mirshowani, brought in to replace Bradford, had a phobia of water and fought to control his panic every time a fucking wave swept over the boat—which was almost constant—and gods only knew what he was going to do next week during night passage. Bertram, at least, followed orders and kept her mouth shut. The guy who’d taken Cochran’s place the second day—Pryczmatrivjet. What a fuckin’ mouthful. Easier to call him Alphabet—seemed to at least know his asshole from his elbow, but he was still new, too.

Then there was Shepherd. Her _buddy_. Still a cocky, arrogant asshole, but at least he was good with an oar and seemed to have developed the ability to anticipate when she wanted them to row and when to hold. He paid attention when it counted, even if his attitude hadn’t improved. 

They were still at war over the damn A/C. It was a battle of wills at this point. Neither of them were willing to bend, so she kept opening the windows and he kept cranking the air down. The cadre was going to shit a brick when they got the power bill. Worth it. No way was she letting that motherfucker win.

Kirkland barked out an order and they hefted the zodiac into the air, managing to get it up with only a single bob of the boat. The taller members of the team bent their elbows, lowering it enough for the shorter ones like her to reach. At least _that_ was coming together. It had taken days, but they’d finally realized that making it easier on everyone made it easier on themselves. Everyone wanted to be a fuckin’ showoff, but most of them hadn’t figured out yet that this phase was not where they wanted to stand out. The time for that would come later.

“Go, go, go!”

They broke into a run, the boat still above their heads, and splashed into the water until they were deep enough for it not to catch on the bottom. In turn, they rolled over the rounded side of the inflatable and took their seats in the boat. Red felt a hand grasp the back of her bright red life jacket and haul her in. Shepherd unceremoniously dumped her onto the stern of the boat with a scowl. 

“Taking too long,” he muttered, but there was a devious spark in his eyes. 

Their little war _was_ kinda fun and after that first heated bitch-fest, it almost felt like they were poking each other just to get a rise rather than actually arguing.

“Stroke! Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!” she called out as the others paddled and she used her oar as a rudder. 

It wasn’t as easy as it goddamn looked. Her forearms strained with the effort of keeping the inflatable moving in a straight line with the waves crashing over them. Bertram bailed water for all she was worth. 

“Don’t. Even. Think. About it. She _pherd_ ,” she intoned in the same cadence when she saw his jaw twitch. She could hear it now. _That’s what she said_. 

A particularly large wave made its way toward them and she saw Mirshowani tense, steeling himself. Thus far, he’d managed to control the fear, and gods knew they’d had plenty of opportunities to work on it. She was beginning to think he might even survive Phase One and found herself somewhat hoping he did. He was more tolerable than most of the others. 

She’d been making sure he was by her during surf torture, when the instructors would make them lie down in the surf with their arms linked together, allowing the waves to wash over them. She found it kinda relaxing, but it was a test of Mirshowani’s will every damn time. As team lead, it was her job to work him through it and fucking Leng certainly wasn’t helping. He seemed to take sadistic pleasure in his teammate’s distress.

“Keep your oars in the water!” Red reminded them. 

Lift them out during a wave, and they became projectiles. Rheinscheld had already caught Alphabet in the side of the head with hers once and broke his nose. His eyes still had pale purple circles under them. He hadn’t quit, though, and that was something. Still, she’d prefer not to repeat that little disaster. 

Fortunately, this time, they all listened. The zodiac flew upward, saltwater crashing in their faces and washing around their feet, to shoot up over the crest. Red whooped as her stomach flipped in response. The zodiac lurched down, gliding swiftly over the back side of the wave. _Fuck, yes!_ Like a fucking roller-coaster ride. _That_ was how that was supposed to happen. 

“Stroke!” she ordered, gripping her oar tighter and fighting the press of the water to straighten them out again. Mirshowani’s face was tight and pale, but he was still with them. Water sprayed from Bertram’s bucket as she continued to bail. 

They pulled ahead of the other teams, and Red looked around with a satisfied grin. They weren’t going to be the first to fucking lose this time. Fina-fuckin-ly, they were pulling their shit together. About damn time, too. Another wave, this one bigger than the last. Her heart pounded in anticipation. This was the fun part in the middle of all the shit. 

Red just happened to be looking at Leng when they met the beginning of the swell. He’d turned his head to face Shepherd and the glint in his eye was enough to give her an idea of his next move. His oar broke the surface of the water as the zodiac began to rise. 

“Shepherd, duck!” she shouted. 

He didn’t hesitate, throwing his head down just as Leng shoved his oar at his head. Del Rio knocked it aside, ensuring that it sailed harmlessly over Shepherd, but the loss of their strongest paddlers was enough to send the zodiac careening up and over. Red’s back hit the water with a smack, and the wave crashed down on her head, sending her flailing in a swirling storm of water and bubbles. 

She kicked to the surface, looking around for her team, and did a headcount before swimming over to Mirshowani and grabbing him by the vest before he could fully panic. She needed to focus him. 

“Blaze, headcount. Now.”

He blinked and shook his head. “Seven…no. Eight. All present and accounted for.”

“Good. Now, get to the zodiac. I am _not_ losing to Morley because Leng decided to be an ass.”

She swam alongside him to the inflatable and rolled in, trudging through ankle-deep water to get to Leng’s seat as he grasped the sides. This was the last time that little shithead was going to interfere with her training. She held her hand out behind her and felt an oar slap into her palm. Leng’s eyes widened when she used it to shove him back into the water and placed a foot on the side, leaning a forearm on her knee as the boat bobbed in the water. 

“You can stay there,” she said. “You and I are going to have a little come-to-Jesus.”

“What do you think you’re doing, Shepard?” he sneered. “Let me up.”

“No. See, at this point, you are the weak link holding us back. You are the reason we have to do extra PT. You have injured or attempted to injure three separate people this week alone. The way I see it, we’d be better off without you.” 

She let the mask slide, allowing her expression to go blank, her eyes to go dead, and her voice to drop. “You know, there are so many ways a person can get injured or even killed out here. So many unfortunate accidents can happen in the water, away from shore. And it would be terribly sad if one were to happen to you, but we can always replace you. Del Rio could find a new buddy; couldn’t you, del Rio?”

“Pretty sure they’re about to divide out crew four if they lose another person,” del Rio said blandly.

Leng sneered, “You wouldn’t touch me. There are too many witnesses.”

“To what?” she asked. “I’m just warning you about the dangers of open water. I’m sure if anything were to happen to you, it would be an unfortunate accident. Right, guys?”

“Truly unfortunate,” Shepherd agreed.

“Oh, yeah. Tragic, really,” Alphabet said. 

“These things do happen,” Bertram sighed. Even Rheinscheld pushed the hair back from her face and nodded, glaring at Leng.

“So, Leng. Seems you have a decision to make. Get your shit squared away and stop causing problems, or the next time you cause an ‘accident’, we’ll ‘accidentally’ end up towing your body back to shore behind the zodiac. _Kapisch_?”

“Let. Me. _In_ ,” he snarled. 

She reached out, grasping the front of his life jacket, and hauled him up, bringing his ear to her lips. “Don’t _fuck_ with my battle buddy, Leng.” 

She dropped him face-first into the water at her feet and resumed her place at the back. 

“Careful now, luv _._ Might start to think you like me,” Shepherd said with a smirk. 

“Don’t want to have to find someone who folds their towels right,” she said, replacing her oar in the water as they turned to shore. 


	4. Dynamite

She ain't no champagne girl. Whiskey on the rocks in her own little world. High heels, redhead, jeans painted on with that red lipstick singing let's get it on. Swingin' like a lighter flame, rocking like a hurricane. The way she gets me high, with those seductive eyes. Blowing up my heart, boom, boom, she's dynamite.- “Dynamite” by Colt Ford ft. Waterloo Revival

* * *

<Chat Request>

<to: kyalenko@alliance.xnet>

<from: krshepard@alliance.xnet>

KS: <Report, huh? I could get you a few. Still working on the rest.  
Rheinscheld: Oklahoma, married with a son, low self esteem, doesn't seem familiar enough with the concept of separation to have been deployed often, physically stronger than she looks.

Del Rio: New York. Boyfriend. Suspect he’s dating Alphabet. Need to observe more>

Leng: Earthborn, Asian appearance. Mother still living, speculate father either dead or out of the picture, classic narcissist, low self-confidence, no work ethic>

Shepherd: (Yep. He spells it wrong) Colonist.>

KA: <That’s it?? You’re losing your touch ;) >

KS: <Lol. No. I just...stumbled on some shit out that was none of my business. Deciding which parts to disseminate and which are need to know>

KA: <How might it affect how he interacts with others?>

KS: <colonists are usually pretty good about unit cohesion. Live or die together gets drilled in from a young age. Very likely effects on ability to empathize, either exaggerated or non-existent. Near certainty of extreme PTSD. Need to evaluate for potential triggers that could affect the unit. Farm background, so probably familiar with rural terrain>

KA: <What the hell happened to him?>

KS: <He's from a colony in the Traverse. That's all I'll say. Some stories aren't mine to tell.>

KA: <Ouch. Yeah. I’d push the unit as a family angle. If he can bring them together, you won’t have to.>

KS: <Another good idea. You might just whip me into a decent leader yet.>

KA: <Should help with Rheinscheld, too. She feels lonely, so make her feel included. Maybe take special interest in her, make her feel seen.>

KS: <Y'know, for someone who claims to miss her husband so terribly, she sure does spend a lot of time batting those baby blues at del Rio and Shepherd...>

KA: <Military life can be hard. Especially for a civilian spouse>

KS: <Yeah, but it was the military spouse they were supposed to send to ICT, lol>

KA: <Ha! Can't argue that. I mean *with* a civilian spouse. Regardless, there’s a reason she was invited. Find it. Nurture it.>

~*~*~*~

“I’m going out,” Red announced, fingers plaiting the last of the tight braids against her scalp. If she got paired up against a female, she’d rather not get her hair pulled. Fine during sex; too simple a way to control her head during a fight. Shepherd looked up from his reading assignment and took in the sight of her sports bra and tight-fitting athletic pants with a quirked eyebrow.

“Hot date?”

“Or something,” she said. “Found a club of sorts I want to check out.”

He snorted and went back to his datapad. “What the hell kind of club lets you in like that?”

“‘The first rule of fight club is: you do not talk about fight club,’” she answered with a grin, tying off her last braid.

“You know, I should have guessed,” he said dryly. 

“You coming, _battle_?” she asked. 

Technically, they weren’t even supposed to leave the base without each other, so she figured she’d at least ask. If he said no, she’d find a way out without garnering attention. He’d keep his mouth shut. He was a lot of things, but rat wasn’t one of them. She could spot those a kilometer away.

“'Appens I might be interested,” he muttered, not looking up from the datapad. 

“Come on, then,” she said, collecting her tape and mouthguard along with her water bottle and a few packets of medigel and throwing them into her gym bag.

“Alright.” Shepherd sat up and pulled on his shoes. “Anything wrong with what I’m wearing? Since you’re the fashion expert on this one.”

“I do accessorize well. Shiny halters and all,” she said with a grin. 

She was still getting a kick out of that one. Asshole. The hell of it was, he was probably right and it wasn’t anything she hadn’t already thought of herself. Didn’t matter, though. She was going to kick ass and take names, both tonight and throughout the rest of ICT. Let the brass play their games. She was here to succeed.

“I’ll let you wear that one, lass,” he smirked, holding the door open for her, then locking it behind them. “You’d look better in a collar than I would anyway.”

“Oh, babycakes, you have _no_ idea…” 

Their destination was an abandoned-looking warehouse set back from the road and surrounded by a concrete wall topped in shards of broken glass that glittered in the wavering glow of the streetlights. It was no proper Alliance gym to be sure, but it was somewhere she didn’t have to worry about pulling her punches and that’s what she was looking for tonight. 

That shit with Leng was really starting to piss her off. She’d killed men for less, she reflected as she gave the password to the bouncer at the door. Raised voices and the thudding bass of Latin rock music reverberated through the metal walls. Sounded like a madhouse in there. Just what she was looking for. 

Shepherd followed her in, a looming shadow behind her. The crowd parted around them, and she wasn’t certain if it was people’s customary aversion to getting too close to her or the giant at her back this time. He looked around the building, silently absorbing the scene. If he’d been someplace like this before, she’d be surprised, but he showed no sign of discomfort.

A slippery-looking man holding a datapad took her name and fighting style before assigning her a number in the same bored shout Red had used to relay her information. She wouldn’t know who she was paired against till they called her up. 

She wended through the boisterous crowd with Shepherd at her six, until they reached a spot where she could see the ring. The concrete floor was sticky with gods only knew what. Smoke from a dozen different substances cast a blue haze over the building. The man beside her turned too quickly, his drink sloshing over the rim and almost spattering her. She shoved the drunk aside without looking. Dumbass would be passed out in the street before sunrise. 

The ring was set up like a cage with nylon webbing surrounding it. Inside, two men faced each other, jabbing tentatively, testing their opponent. The shorter of the two lashed out with a foot and Shepherd muttered something she couldn’t hear and shook his head derisively. 

She regarded him with a raised brow. “You fight?” 

“Don’t we all?”

“So, why don’t you sign up? Release some of that pent-up frustration over the damn air conditioner,” she suggested with a smirk. 

The fucking humidity was going to kill her. She’d had to close the windows two days before to keep the rain from soaking her bed, but the jackass had left the air cranked down, so she’d opened them again as soon as the weather cleared. Better muggy than cold. 

She’d spent far too much of her life trying not to quite literally freeze to death to be willing to deal with it in a space where she should be comfortable. Besides, it was a fun challenge, a battle of wills that _didn’t_ risk unit cohesion.

“Doesn’t matter to me one way or another if you like the scent of humid corn chips. It gets maftin’, I can lower the AC, dry my side out,” he chuckled.

“Fine by me,” she said, trying to hide her grin. “I’m sure I can find a space heater at the BX. Warm it up a little more on my side.”

“Or I could just warp your arse. You really think I should sign up?” He furrowed his brow, looking at the ring.

“Hells yeah, I think you should. C’mon, big guy. Show me whatcha got.”

“I don’t have my mouthguard. Or tape.”

“We can find one. Don’t want to mess up your pretty mouth. How would you talk shit?”

He grinned. “Oh luv, that’s the least of what I do with this mouth.” 

“Uh huh. Right,” she said, looked around for a vendor. Generally, someone would be hawking supplies for far more than they were worth. “I’m sure someone around here is selling them. And I’ve got extra tape.”

“‘Appen…” he said distractedly, looking around. “I’ll do it if I can find one.”

“I mean, I guess you can always use mine if you can’t. Won’t fit exactly right, but it’ll work,” she said. “As you can see, no holds barred. Only rules are no weapons, no biotics, no killing. This isn’t the Alliance. You should have a few more hours, though. They’ll go either till dawn or the cops come.”

“Lemme see.”

“Alright, your call.” She dug in her gym bag to double-check that she didn’t have a spare tucked into one of the pockets. “You know, if—hey, where’d you go?” 

She whipped around, looking for him. He shouldn’t be hard to find. He stood at least a head taller than most people in the building. She caught sight of him walking over to a blond with a gym bag over his shoulder and weaved through the crowd toward them. 

He plastered a chagrined smile on his face and said, “‘Ey up, pal. Look, I didn’t come at all prepared tonight, but my girl really wants me to get in there. I don’t want to disappoint her, but I do like my teeth, hear me? You wouldn’t happen to have a spare mouth guard, would you?” He made a show of patting his pockets. “I’m afraid it was so last minute, I don’t even have a credit chit on me. I could transfer a couple credits to your omni-tool if that’s okay.”

 _His girl, huh_? She could play that game.

Red sidled up to him, and he beamed down at her, wrapping a heavy arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “Hey, babe. There you are. I was just asking…I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Gary.”

“I was just asking Gary here if he had an extra mouth guard.”

Red splayed a hand over Shepherd’s chest and looked adoringly up at him. “I hope he does. I can’t believe I forgot to grab one for you. I really want to see what you can do.” She let her hand trail down the washboard plain of his abdomen. Da _yum_. “You know how much I love the way you move.”

Shepherd flashed a conspiratorial grin at Gary but said nothing.

“Yeah. No problem. You know what? Don’t even worry about paying for it. If a couple credit’s is going to break me, I’ve got bigger concerns.”

Gary passed him a slim case and Shepherd’s grin widened. “Thanks, pal. You probably just saved my night.”

“No problem.”

Shepherd tucked the case in his pocket, and they turned away. Red felt his hand come down to squeeze her ass and made her answering slap at least _look_ playful.

“Hands off the merchandise, buddy. All that to keep from having to pay a credit or two for the thing?”

“Vendors in a place like this aren’t going to charge a credit or two. I’m not paying the price of a dinner for a half-credit mouthpiece.”

The ring announcer called out Red versus Delgado. “Wanna be my cornerman?” 

Shepherd rolled his eyes. “You have to ask?” He pulled her over to the bookie. “Five hundred credits on...Red?”  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Five hundred on Red.” 

“That sure of me, hmm?” she asked, lifting a brow. “You won’t pay twenty for a mouthpiece, but you’ll risk five hundred on me.”

“Yeah. I’ll find another way to take it out of your arse if you lose. So, you know. Kick some ass. Or don’t. I win either way.”

“Is that so? And if I win? What’re you gonna do with it?”

“With what? The money? Or your arse?”

She chuckled. “Oh, that could be a dangerous question. The money, you ass.” Though, she wouldn’t be opposed to him doing things to her ass. 

She didn’t have to like him to find him attractive, and she’d seen him in nothing but a towel enough times now to have an idea of what she’d be dealing with. The man was built like a damn god. Of course she wanted to hit that.

“I’d be responsible, of course. Stash it away for something important. Like liquor.”

“You at least going to _share_ the liquor I’m gonna be buying with my blood and sweat?” she asked, popping a hand towel in his direction before laying it out with her water bottle and a sponge. After a moment’s consideration, she shrugged and dropped her gym bag on the floor beside the chair.

“Of course. Have to reward the show pony somehow.” He scooted out of the way of the towel she snapped at him. “ _Oi!_ ”

She shook her head, grinning wryly. “No trust. If I _wanted_ to hit you, I would’ve.”

“I trust you just fine, bit, but snapping towels aren’t on the list of things I like near my arse.” 

“Mmhm. Careful, I might think you’re flirting with me.”

“Go win us enough to get drunk. I’m not what you’d call a cheap date.”

“You’re biotic. That goes without saying.” 

She looked over her gathered supplies to ensure she had everything and checked the ring. Her opponent was across the way, doing the same. Time to focus. Shepherd took the tape and skillfully wrapped it around her hands like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Was hoping you’d second for me. Inconvenient doing this alone. I’ll get you when you fight.” 

She fetched her own mouthguard and palmed it, checking the tape and stretching quickly before they were gestured into the ring. She eyed her opponent as she ducked under the section of mesh barrier Shep raised, slipping her mouthguard over her teeth. 

The thing she liked about these fights—one of them, anyway—was that there were no weight classes, so she was almost always pitted against people larger than she was. It provided a challenge she didn’t get in the Alliance rings. Delgado didn’t disappoint. He was lean and wiry, but pure, lithe muscle. Quick on his feet, she was willing to bet, and the reptilian gleam in his eye forewarned her that he was going to be mean, too. He either didn’t care that she was female and smaller than he was or considered it a bonus. Good.

The same calm neutrality that had taken her through countless gang fights and legitimate battles descended over her. Her face smoothed out, her focus sharpened. The flooring of the ring gave slightly under her feet as she dodged his first testing jabs, keeping her fists in position to block until he gave her the opening she needed. He was holding back, slowing his movements in an attempt to make her underestimate him. 

They circled each other sinuously, cobra against a mongoose, until he finally lashed out. She feinted left. Ducked his fist. Threw her weight to the right. Pop! His unguarded teeth snapped together as her fist made contact with his jaw. He spat a stream of red, his eyes narrowing. Satisfaction sang through her. First blood, though by no means the last. This dance was just getting started.

He lunged forward, raining a flurry of blows against her fists, forearms, and the sides of her head. She blocked, tucking her head and hunkering down under the onslaught. Let him wear himself down. She watched his feet between her upraised arms. When he stepped out just a bit too far, she hooked hers behind his ankle and gave a swift jerk. He didn’t go down, but he stumbled back, which was enough to allow Red to move in. She ignored the burn in her knuckles as she paid back blow for blow, aiming for the most sensitive parts of his pock-marked face.

He caught her fist as she struck again, tucking it between their bodies out of sight of the spectators and Red froze. _Motherfucking asshole!_ He’d locked her in goddamn stasis! There was little that she hated more than fucking stasis. Dirty, cheap trick. When she got free, she was going to warp his ass. 

_C’mon, Shepherd. Notice something’s wrong and fucking call it._

Stasis didn’t stop her from feeling his fist slam into her face or the hot rush of blood over her eye and cheek as her eyebrow split. Fuck this. She was gonna _kill_ this motherfucker.

“‘ _Ey_! ‘Eads up, ref! Biotics in play! Bleeding Christ! Pay attention, wasak!” Shepherd’s voice rang out from the corner. Thank the gods he still had half a brain and was paying attention. 

Delgado released her and they were waved off to their separate corners. His coach was already waiting with a scowl on his face. Red shook off the stasis and stalked out of the ring. 

“Thanks,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “Goddamn _hate_ stasis.”

Shepherd’s brow was furrowed. “Dirty move. Need water? Tape still good?”

“Tape’s fine. Water would be great. And get this blood outta my eye.”

“I was getting there.” He poured water on her sponge and dabbed gently at her eyebrow, cleaning up the blood. “Open…” Water squirted in her mouth, cool and refreshing. 

“Amps out!” the ref called out. 

She grumbled but popped hers out and slapped it into Luke’s waiting palm, feeling naked. 

His voice was low and dangerous as he closed his hand around it. “Fuck him up, lit'le girl.”

“Oh, I plan to. He won’t be pulling that shit again any time soon.”

“Atta girl. You got this.”

She cracked her knuckles and stepped back into the ring. _Cold as Lake Michigan in February, Red. Just another target. No quarter, no mercy. Let him see what happens to a cobra that fucks with a mongoose._

She lunged for his leg, but he was faster. He caught her, wrapping his arms around her neck. The pressure on her throat was intense but short lived as she yanked his head to the wrong side, taking his leverage, and slipped out.

She wrapped her leg around his and flipped, bending his leg over her shin and digging the bone into his muscle. She hadn’t met a person yet who could withstand a calf slicer, and he was no exception. With an agonized roar, he tapped out. 

“That’s it, Red!” Shepherd hooted.

They got to their feet, and he came at her low. The punch to her face snapped her head to the side, and he threw her across the ring. She rolled to her feet as he darted toward her. Grabbing his hand, she flipped upside down and wrapped herself around his arm like a snake.

He shouted in pain and tapped out. 

“Stupid whore,” he snarled. “Maybe later, I catch you outside with my amp. Show you your place.”

Both bloodied, they got to their feet, circling again. He rushed in. Red ran forward to meet him. When she was close enough, she leapt up, wrapping her legs around his neck in a triangle choke. 

They dropped to the mat. He was hers now. On his feet, his height made hitting him more difficult, but in a grapple, she was deadly. She’d had to learn to be, given that most people’s first thought was to get her to the ground where they could use their weight and size against her more effectively. From here, she could break bones, cut off his air supply, permanently rearrange his face.

Hooking her feet together, she curled her body up so that she could reach him. She drove her elbows and fists repeatedly into his amp port, ignoring the hand slapping her thigh as she allowed her fury to break free. She’d see him unconscious before she was done. He wouldn’t be using stasis in the ring again, that was for damn sure.

Strong hands hooked under her arms, more grasping her ankles and prying her legs apart as Delgado went limp. She released him and allowed Luke to drag her back. 

“Stand down, luv, you got him. He won’t be pulling that shite again.”

Red followed him out of the ring, sprawling back in the chair, noting for the first time the bruises and splits in her face, the blood smeared across her skin. Typical for a good fight, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing broken. 

She pulled the soiled tape off her hands as Luke gently sponged her face again and squirted water into her mouth. She retrieved a cloth and wiped the worst of Delgado’s blood off her belly and legs. She had no open wounds there, so the risk was minimal, but she still didn’t enjoy it. 

When she was finished, she tipped her head back, running a hand over her braided hair, and sighed, feeling the tension of the last weeks finally drain away. Nothing like a little violence to soothe frayed nerves. Kaidan probably wouldn’t have approved, but Delgado knew what he was signing up for. No biotics, no weapons, no fights to the death. 

Those were the rules. She’d been well within them. Tap-outs only counted if the other person chose to stop. He’d known the job was dangerous when he took it. At least it seemed like Shepherd got it.

She eyed him, considering. Maybe he was a little more like her than she’d thought. “About that liquor….”

He held out her amp. “I’m still sharing. Want me to put it in or you got it?”

She tipped her head forward and slid the braids aside. “If you don’t mind. You can see it and the adrenaline crash has got my hands shaking.”

“Right. Hold still.” Her amp popped home with the customary zing through the back of her teeth that accompanied it. He ran his thumb over it to make sure it fit snugly, then dropped his hand, holding out her water bottle and slinging her bag over his shoulder when she took it. “Let’s go cash out.”

After the bookie paid out, he called up his omni-tool. Her own pinged with a notification.

“What’s this?” 

“Your share.”

She looked at her message: 250 credit transfer. Huh.

An hour later, she watched Shepherd tape his fists in preparation for his fight. _He has good hands…and where the hell did that come from?_ She gave an imperceptible shake of her head. It was just proximity to an admittedly remarkable shirtless male specimen when she hadn’t gotten laid since leaving Vancouver and Kaidan. And they _were_ objectively good hands. Large, long fingers, calluses in all the right places to comfortably hold a rifle, weapons in their own right. Like hers. 

He’d surprised her a couple times today, not just by sharing his winnings. Kaidan’s likely reaction to her fight was what she would expect from most people, even soldiers. Disappointment, dismay, censure, even a little fear. Those were normal. Luke’s approval of it was anomalous. Not many people out there were willing to step in and get close to her when she let herself out of her carefully crafted cage.

She snorted and gestured with her head when she saw his opponent begin to set up across the ring. Shepherd glanced over his shoulder, winking at her when he saw who it was. The blond guy who’d given him the mouthguard did a double-take at the sight of them. 

She hadn’t paid much attention to him before. The dude was built like a brick shithouse. Shepherd was freakishly tall, probably a good four inches above six feet, and sturdily built while the other guy was shorter, but the blond—Grant, Gary, something—was a fucking boulder. She wondered if someone had spliced krogan DNA into him. This was going to be interesting. She was pretty sure she had enough medigel with her. 

“Lucifer versus Coulson!”

“Lucifer, hm?” Red asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You’ve no idea, luv,” he smirked as he popped the mouthguard in and stepped calmly into the ring. 

The two men touched fists for half a breath before circling for a moment with their hands raised. Shepherd didn’t waste time with experimental jabs. His blue eyes were fastened sharply on his target, noting each shift of weight and moving to counter before it was fully executed. Red crossed her arms over her chest and kicked back on her heel. People in the crowd jeered and Gary scowled, but Red waited patiently. He wasn’t moving much now, but she’d put good money on the fight being over fast once he did. 

Gary, she noted, had a tendency to forget that he had both hands and feet and could work them at the same time. He struck out with a foot, aiming for Shepherd's solar plexus, and his fists separated enough to leave his face completely unguarded. Shepherd blocked, the corner of his mouth tightening slightly. 

She had to hand it to him. He hadn’t attempted a single blow yet and the fight was already over. Gary just didn’t know it yet. 

The blond brought his knee up, driving it into Shepherd’s side. Luke absorbed the blow, choosing instead to finally strike. For such a big guy, he was _fast_. He didn’t hold back any more than she did, his fists raining a flurry of blows that left his opponent staggered long enough for Shepherd to take a step back and land a solid kick to the side of the guy’s head. The burly man stumbled, dazed, but didn’t go down. 

_Gonna take more than that, Shepherd. Put some weight behind it._ Shepherd simply nodded to himself as if he’d been expecting that. 

Gary shook his head to clear it and countered. Almost feral satisfaction radiated off Shepherd as they finally traded blow-for-blow. Physically, they were pretty evenly matched, Gary’s bulk making up for his lack of height, but Shepherd was smart and cunning. 

He didn’t swing unless he knew it was going to land where he wanted it and when he did, her eyes could barely track his motion, the speed not minimizing the force with which his fists crashed into the man’s face. She understood now why he hadn’t been fazed by her. He was just as brutal as she was. 

They brought to mind a pair of stags locking horns when they caught each other by the fists, their bare chests pressed together like lovers. She barked a laugh as Shepherd drew his head back and _slammed_ his forehead into the blond’s. Wouldn’t fly in a sanctioned fight, she was sure, but here, all bets were off. 

The blow knocked Gary back a few staggering steps, enough to allow Shepherd to collect himself like a wolf moving in for the kill. She leaned forward, eagerly holding her breath, eyes locked on her battle buddy and a grin toying at her lips. 

He took two long strides and drew himself into the air, both feet lashing out and ramming into Gary’s chest. Shepherd fell to the mat and rolled as the blond flew into the net, his body limp but still semi-conscious. _Fucking beautiful. Now finish it_ , she urged. 

As if he’d heard her, he leapt again, twisting his body in the air like a gymnast, one leg providing counterweight as the other foot forcefully shot out and snapped Gary’s head to the side. Where the hell had he learned to do a tornado kick? That was an MMA move, something she herself would do when her opponent was within her reach, not an Alliance one. 

This time, he caught himself, turning to watch the other man fall heavily to the mat, down for the count. Shepherd circled the blond heap, watching for any kind of movement. The ref counted it out and called the fight. She should have found the damn bookie herself. 

Red met him outside the ring with a water bottle in one hand and the other extended for a high five. “Uuuup top!” she exclaimed. 

He scoffed and looked at her incredulously. “Serious?”

“As a damn heart attack.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, an exasperated smile on his lips as he held his hand up. 

“ _Hells_ yes…” 

She smacked her palm to his, grinning. He sat back in the chair and allowed her to blot the blood away from his face with a wet sponge as he drank from the bottle. She held up a packet of medigel. 

“Want me to do it?” she asked. 

He was tolerating her hand over the sponge, but given his reaction to her just touching his shoulder that first day, she doubted he’d appreciate her hands on his face any more than she would his on hers.

“Eh, go on,” he surprised her by saying, looking at the blond being hauled up to a sitting position. “Good thing we didn’t bet on him, yeah?” 

She chuckled and smoothed the medigel over his skin, telling herself the tingle against her thumb was his biotics and nothing more. “Yep. Throw the fight for the money or win and lose it? ...Lose the money. No question.”

“Agreed.” He tugged his hoodie on, wincing as it brushed over his head. “I’m going to feel this in training. D’you do this often?”

“When I need to release pent-up shit, yeah. Sanctioned fights have too many restrictions. Need to just let it out sometimes, y’know? And this fucking week was a pain in the ass. It was this or bash Leng in the head with an oar.”

“You know, most people just take care of it in the shower.”

She was _not_ discussing her sex life—or current lack of one—with him. She smirked instead. “ _That’s_ why there’s never any hot water left when you get done… Whatever flies your starship, dude.”

“Mmhm. I heard that little moan of yours in there yesterday. You can’t tell me you don’t do it, too.” He rose heavily. “Anything else you want to do or are we good to go, _baby_?”

“Think we’re done here, _caro_ ,” she said, shaking her head and fighting a grin. “That was clever. Pull that manipulative shit with me, though, and I’ll have your ass.” 

He gave an abrupt laugh and nudged her with his elbow. “You couldn’t get so lucky.”

“Pssht. You wish.”


	5. Let Me Be Your Armor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! A little late on posting this chapter and it's a bit short, so two for one today!

Let me take the blows that were meant for you. Let me help you with the trials you’re going through. Let me keep you safe from the world outside. Let me wipe away the tears that fill your eyes. Let me be your armor. Let me be your shield. -“Let Me Be Your Armor” by Assemblage 23

* * *

<Chat Request>

<to: kyalenko@alliance.xnet>

<from: krshepard@alliance.xnet>

KS: <What are the odds the person in charge was drunk or playing a practical joke?>

KA: <You still talking about Rheinscheld?>

KS: <Yeah>

KA: <Ah. do you want the truth or the comforting lie?>

KS: <Truth. Always.>

KA: <Probably drunk. Kidding. Don’t give up on her. She hasn’t rung out yet, has she?>

KS: <Is this what you go through every cycle?>

KA: <Yep. But I need to go. Class in 10. It was good to talk again>

KS: <You, too. Thanks, K. I needed this. Feels very alone here. Not used to that being a bad thing.>

KA: <It’s going to be ok. keep me posted>

KS: <I'll let you know. Unless I kill Leng. Then I'll grant you plausible deniability. >

KA: <You’re so considerate.>

~*~*~*~

“You are all familiar with the Mark 14 grenade,” Kirkland said, “so I better not have to explain it to you. However, what most of you will not have been introduced to are the upgradable capabilities of it. High explosives, flashbangs, thermite paste, charged particle proton charges, Bose-Einstein condensates—commonly referred to as ‘cryo’ rounds when applied to small arms—cobalt-salted micro-nukes, and more will be available to you _if_ you complete my training. Today, we will be working with _high explosives_. On the tables in front of you is everything you need to convert your grenade…”

Lukas stood at the table under the pavilion with Shepard to his left between him and del Rio. Perspiration dripped down the back of his neck as he listened to the instructor describe the process of converting the grenades. They followed along with his demonstration, some more quickly than others. Bertram fumbled hers, dropping it on the table. 

“And _that_ , cadets, is why we don’t start with inferno grenades,” Torres announced. “If we did, Boat Crew Three would be dead. Boat Crews One and Two would be on fire _._ Bertram, you need to go wash the butter off your hands?”

“Ma’am, no, ma’am.”

“Then _pay attention_ ,” she snapped. “You're supposed to be elite soldiers not rookies, so quit with the fucking rookie mistakes. Take two seconds, step back, and pop your fucking head out of your asshole. My granny could do this better than you and she’s been dead for ten years!”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” Bertram said.

Shepard raised a brow at him. He rolled his eyes at her without taking his attention off his grenade, carefully working the delicate mod. She smirked, her hands working just a bit faster. So she wanted to play like that, hm? Lukas went a little faster, an answering smirk on his face. Del Rio huffed in amusement, but they ignored him, galvanized by the challenge. They placed their grenades on the table at the same time, their fingers brushing comfortably against each other. Leng was only a few seconds behind them, pursing his lips and shaking his head. 

“Step back from the tables,” Moreno, another instructor, ordered. Small and tawny, even-tempered, he was one of their favorites if only because he wasn’t a prick. 

The unofficial race ended in a tie and Shepard stepped back with a small, disappointed sigh that made him chuckle. Moreno directed them to take the modified grenades to the foxholes at the near end of the range. He and Shepard stepped down into theirs, moving around each other with the ease they’d developed during surf passage while they arranged the grenades in the provided box. Despite their momentary camaraderie at the fight, they’d largely gone back to their typical reserve with each other once they’d returned to base.

Lukas stepped forward, setting the ten second timer and extended his arm back, counting silently. To their right, Alphabet did the same, his stance that of an experienced pitcher. Rheinscheld on their left took position, glancing at Kirkland for confirmation. He nodded in approval and she beamed. 

Simultaneously, they threw the grenades, ducking back behind the barricade. He and Shepard both peered over the top, watching the resulting explosions send plumes of dirt, flame, and smoke soaring into the air. 

“ _Hells_ yes,” Shepard muttered. 

She plucked one of her grenades from the box and waited for the order. Bertram took Rheinscheld’s place and Jones took Alphabet’s. When it came, she set the timer and drew her hand back, copying Alphabet’s earlier stance. If she wanted to get at least as close to the target as he had, she would need form to overcome brute strength. So far, so good. 

_Eight, seven, six, five._

Bertram fumbled her grenade. He lost the count as he watched the pin catch on her shirt and pull free. The explosive fell through her fingers to land in the bucket holding the rest.

_Oh, shite._

_“_ _Grenade!”_

He pivoted. Shepard threw her grenade. Lukas dove for Shepard. He wrapped himself around her and threw them into the pit, flaring his barrier and activating his tech armor. Shepard’s barrier flared instinctively, wrapping around them both. Lukas’ meshed with it, one strengthening the other. He felt the gentle press of her mind against his and clamped down tight.

The rapid-fire series of explosions hammered them with dirt, rocks, and bits of shrapnel. The booms and rush of his pulse filled his ears and covered the shouts he knew must be coming from the instructors and other students. Flame rolled over the top of the foxhole and acrid smoke followed. Lukas pressed her deeper into the dirt, flattening his back to avoid the fire licking at his arse.

He cradled her head in his arm under his chest, his chin resting on top of her head. His body curled over hers, fitting her tightly against him. In other circumstances, the position could have been a lot of fun. 

With her arse this tight against his groin, he was certain there was no hiding the physical effects it was having. He huffed a laugh against her hair. Biology created _strange_ situations in the field sometimes. The merging of their biotics likely added to it. There was something unpleasantly intimate about the sensation.

When the smoke cleared, he sat up and looked around to find a winded Kirkland standing over Bertram and Rheinscheld’s prone forms, their hands covering their heads and a shimmering biotic bubble surrounding them. Alive, then. Their ordnance pail was nowhere to be found, a deep blackened scorch marking the place where it had been. They were lucky Kirkland had apparently moved so quickly. Red mist was all they’d have been if they’d been standing in the foxhole when they went off.

Shepard smirked over at Shepard. “Aw, babycakes. Careful. I might start to think you like me.”

“Can’t have the brass’ show pony end up as glue,” he snarked, eyes gleaming as he dusted off his fatigues. “Wouldn’t look good on my record.”

“Boat crews, report!” Torres shouted. 

Shepard got to her feet and counted their guys. “Boat crew three, present and accounted for, ma’am,” she responded. “No visible injuries.” The other team leads chimed in, giving the same report. 

Kirkland ordered Bertram and Rheinscheld to sick call for examination and the rest of them to return to their posts. Lukas shook his head. Between those two and Leng, the odds of this crew ever becoming functional were looking slimmer by the day.

At least she looked as calm as he felt, he noted as he selected another grenade. Her hands were as steady as his, her face unconcerned as he went to the barricade and primed his next throw. If not for the dirt ground into the fabric of their BDUs, they were none the worse for wear. He doubted anyone looking at them would have been able to guess that they’d just been less than ten feet from death. 

She’d handled it. And she hadn’t nova’d him into next week when he jumped her. She’d shared her barrier with him without hesitation. Show pony or not, it seemed he might have gotten a decent buddy after all.


	6. Heathens

Just because we check the guns at the door doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades. You're lovin' on the psychopath sitting next to you. You're lovin' on the murderer sitting next to you. You'll think, “How'd I get here, sitting next to you?” But after all I've said, please don't forget. All my friends are heathens, take it slow. -“Heathens” by Twenty-One Pilots

* * *

Red sputtered as briny water crashed over her face. Mirshowani’s arm, linked with hers, tensed. The subsequent undertow dug furrows into the sand beneath her, lifting her uniformed body and attempting to tug it out to sea, but she was firmly anchored between him and Shepherd on the other side, muttering curses under his breath when he could catch it. As long as Mirshowani didn’t break, at least. She didn’t like her chances with Leng on his other side should he decide to call it. 

Salt coated her sinuses and the back of her throat, burning with every breath. Fuckin’ surf torture. Aptly named. Over the rumbling tide, the instructors barked out orders. Flutter kicks in themselves weren’t difficult. Flutter kicks while attempting to simply _breathe_ without drowning were a bitch. She counted off in her head, catching the instructors’ shouts only often enough to ensure that they were still matched up, and turned the bulk of her focus to the rush and draw of the water. There was a point between each wave where it hesitated before surging back over them that allowed just enough time to clear the water from their mouths and noses so that they could take a breath before the next wave. 

“ _Bollocks_ …” Shepherd grumbled through another mouthful of seawater. 

Mirshowani stared vacantly at the beach, trembling subtly. Down the line, Alphabet attempted to crack a joke but was interrupted by another wave. She could feel the resulting cough through both Leng and Blaze. 

Rheinscheld was blubbering again, but before Red could formulate something motivational, Bertram snapped, “Oh, would you _shut up_ already? We’re all here, dealing with the same—agh, _fuck_ —the same shit as you. Quit goddamn whining about it!”

If Red could have gotten an arm free, she’d have high-fived the woman. But, no. She was fuckin’ team lead. Which meant she had to keep morale up. And sniping within the ranks didn’t keep morale up. She waited out another wave while trying to figure out _something_ to say when the truth of the matter was that Bertram had just vocalized what they’d all been thinking for more than a week now. Red didn’t often feel sympathy, but Blondie made her all the more grateful that Shepherd was her battle buddy. She’d have probably smothered Rheinscheld in her sleep by now. Bertram was a damn saint. 

She was drawing a blank on motivational sayings. ‘If Mirshowani isn’t losing his shit, _you_ don’t get to lose _your_ shit’ would just make him feel worse about the whole thing and he was actually holding it together for the moment. He was one of the few in this group who pulled his weight and then some, especially considering the fact that the instructors seemed determined to utilize the ocean in every way they possibly could and a few they probably had to bend nature to get away with. She’d rather he not ring out just yet if she could help it. His replacement would probably be another shitbag.

“Is it just me or is the tide coming in?” Jones called out, an edge of panic in his voice. 

_That_ , she could say something about. “We knew it was coming, guys. And when it does, we get to rest.”

“Rest? That’s what we’re calling it now?” Alphabet said on a choked laugh. 

“This is ICT. Damn right that’s a rest,” she replied. Come high tide, all they had to do was lie here, not get dragged out to sea, and not drown. At the Villa, you took your breaks where you could get them. “Blaze, how you holding up?” she asked, dropping her voice.

“Love it,” he said gamely.

“Embrace the suck, right?” 

If she could get him focused on the group rather than the water, maybe he’d relax a little. Currently, the grip of his elbow on hers was almost cutting off her circulation, but she wasn’t about to move. If that made him feel more secure, she could deal with tingling fingers. She didn’t like water in her face any more than the next guy, but it legitimately freaked him out. And yet here he was, locked down with the rest of them.

“Sure. If that’s what you want to call it,” he tried to laugh as another wave washed over them. It ended with what could almost be a sob when the water receded, but the tremors in his arm around hers stopped for a few moments as he gasped in a breath.

She adjusted her grip, locking her hand around his forearm. “Nowhere else you’d rather be, right? Sure beats the hell out of being a lazy beach bum, ass in the sand with a little umbrella drink. Who wants that?” Another wave crashed over them, pressing her down into the sand before jerking her back against their arms. The line shifted but held.

“Fuck that shite. Rather have a blizzard on Noveria,” Shepherd grunted. “There’s no Paradise wi’ sand in it, and you’ll never convince me otherwise.”

Red blinked quickly, trying to get the water out of her eyes as she nodded. “Swear to Christ if I never see another grain of sand after this, it’ll be too fuckin’ soon. Did I tell you I found some of that shit in the top corner of my wall locker yesterday? How the hell did it get there? Shit’s like goddamn glitter. Beach herpes. It breeds. Or the instructors sneak in and toss it everywhere.” She paused to let another wave crash and gasped in a breath. “Del Rio, weirdest place you’ve found sand so far?”

“My toothbrush,” he answered. “Pretty sure we’ve all got it up our ass.”

She sputtered a laugh. “And judging by the instructors, I have a feeling we’re about to experience that one again. At least it gets us out of the water for a few, right?”

“Wet and sandy!” Kirkland shouted, pacing up the row of boat crews. “I want everybody wet and sandy now!”

They struggled to their feet as a single exhausted unit and released their death grips on each other before bolting to the nearest sand dune and throwing themselves down to roll in it. It wasn’t enough to just get it _some_ places. They wanted to see it _everywhere._ A clean spot anywhere but the eyes and mouth meant another trek back to the top of the dune. It went down their shirts, ground its way into their boots, and del Rio wasn’t kidding. Her ass was fucking _chafed_ from all the goddamn sand that made it past her belt. 

She looked over to find Shepherd face first in the grit, tossing fistfuls of the stuff over himself and smirked before scooping up a handful and dumping it over the back of his head. 

“Missed a spot.” 

“ _Bleeding Christ_!” he grimaced as it trickled down the back of his shirt. “You flirting or starting a fight, lass?”

She looked up at him with her most innocent expression. “I’m just being a good buddy. Got your six, _battle_.” 

She’d officially been out in the sun too long or had consumed too much saltwater. But, hell, if she couldn’t have a little fun with it when the opportunity arose, what was the point of dealing with the shit?

Shepherd quirked an amused eyebrow at her and slung a handful of sand that spattered on her stomach. 

“You complete me,” he said sarcastically, signing the words with his hands as they ran back to the ocean. 

It was probably just the sun in her eyes, but she thought maybe, just _maybe_ , there might have been a hint of a grin on his sandy face.

They certainly made a comical picture like that. She had enough sand in her hair that she was pretty sure she’d be able to take her bun down and build a sand castle in the shower later if she wanted. The combined weight of the sand and water in it pulled at her scalp. But who gave a shit? It’d wash out. 

She tucked up beside him and glanced around to ensure that the instructors were occupied before pulling up her omni-tool and snapping a picture. Kaidan would probably enjoy that. Shepherd blinked at her and gave her shoulder a playful shove before turning back to the water. 

“What’d you do that for?” That was _definitely_ a grin. 

“Posterity,” she answered with a grin of her own. 

Blondie made a beeline for del Rio, but Alphabet sidled in beside him, cutting her off, so she redirected to Shepherd instead. For somebody who supposedly missed her husband so bad, she sure was determined to get near any of the attractive men. She didn’t seem to care which one it was, just that they paid her even an iota of attention. Red shot an amused eye roll at her battle buddy and took her spot between them again. Leng ended up on the outside this time. Good. Maybe Jones’ grip would slip and he’d get washed away.

Mirshowani heaved a sigh and linked arms with her, resignation or determination pinching his lips together. It didn’t matter which it was at this point. The tide was actively coming in now, each wave higher than the one before, and the instructors stopped them a little closer to the shore than they had been. Exercise was over, at least. Now it was just endure and survive. 

Jones’ eyes were wider than Blaze’s had been earlier. He didn’t seem to mind the water when they were in the zodiac, but having to lie here while it relentlessly pounded them into the sandy bottom was getting to him. She briefly considered swapping him and Mirshowani out, but if she had to pick between them, the latter was the one she wanted to make it through. Jones was on his own. Hopefully Alphabet could get him through. He, at least, seemed to find this whole exercise entertaining.

They laid back in the water again, this time with their heads toward the shore. It put them a little shallower and meant that they could see the waves before they hit, but it also meant watching them roll in one after another. That could be as much a mindfuck as not knowing when they were coming. Seeing it was just a reminder that there was no end in sight. The instructors might keep them out here for half an hour or half a day. There was no rhyme or reason to it. If Mirshowani could stick this part out, she’d be impressed.

Shepard glanced over her head at him, then caught her gaze before sighing as they settled back into it. Maybe he thought the same thing. She wrapped her hand around Mirshowani’s forearm again. She’d done more touching today than she had since Vancouver, but it didn’t seem to be hurting and she’d take whatever edge she could get. This was where his weakness was and he was working to fix it. That made keeping him in the game her top priority. Kaidan would be proud.

“Have I just drunk too much seawater or does that cloud up there look like a dick?” Alphabet asked. 

Red half-sat and raised an eyebrow at him, but his eyes were still focused on the sky. She glanced up and snorted. It fuckin’ _did_ look like a perfectly sculpted dick and balls. She was so caught up in laughing at the sight that she missed the approaching wave until Mirshowani’s arm tightened around hers, giving her just enough warning to close her eyes and hold her breath until it passed. She shook the water out of her face and nudged Blaze. 

“He’s right.”

“Cut, too, innit?” Shepherd chuckled through a mouthful of seawater. 

“Yeah, it is,” Alphabet said after the next wave. “Blaze, that one across from it. Rabbit eating a bagel or kangaroo blowing smoke rings?”

“Are you children finshed making things up?” Leng sneered from the end. “We need to focus. Imagining pictures in clouds isn’t conducive.”

“Actually,” Alphabet said, his tone shifting from jocular to hard and frigid in an instant, “it is. If you’d like to sit here and watch the waves roll in, be my guest. But shut the fuck up before Jones gets squirrely and forgets to hold on.”

“Damn it, Leng, I just might,” Jones groused. “We don’t need dead weight.”

“Oh, the weather outside is weather,” Shepherd sing-songed exasperatedly. “Shut the fuck up and look at the pretty clouds. At least it’s not raining.”

“Shut your filthy whore mouth, Lucifer,” Alphabet said, sitting up to shoot a grin at him. “Don’t jinx us like that. This is Rio. You don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” he shot back with a smirk. “For all you know, I control the weather.”

“ _Down_ , boys,” Red said, rolling salt-stung eyes. “Jack each other off in the shower if you need to, but I don’t think Mirshowani and I are looking to get caught in the crossfire right at the moment.”

“You could only dream of it,” her battle snorted.

“Oh, damn. _Now_ what’m I supposed to do with the rest of my day?” she snarked, biting back a laugh and eyeing the surf. They still had a few seconds before the next one came in. “Blaze, you still with us? You’re being awfully quiet.”

He stared up at the sky, biting back a grin and for once not clutching at her arm. “It came _._ ”

That startled a laugh out of her that ended with Red rolling onto her side to cough up the lungful of saltwater she inhaled. When she was fairly certain she wasn’t going to die, she shook her head with a weak grin. “Y’know, Mirshowani, you’re alright.”

“I can’t do this,” Jones intoned suddenly. “I can’t...I can’t do it. Fuck this shit.”

Red coughed again and pulled herself up enough to look over him. “Yes, you can,” she said as firmly as she could manage. “Just a little longer. You got this.”

“C’mon, Jones,” Alphabet chided. “Pull it together. Nobody’s answered me about the rabbit or the kangaroo yet. What do you think?”

“I think I can’t fucking do this!” Jones shouted, unhooking his arms from Alphabet and Leng before standing up with a splash. 

She recognized the blank, panicked glaze in his eyes and shrugged a shoulder. It didn’t matter what she said to him now. If _this_ was enough to send him there when green-as-grass Davis managed to hold the line against ten thousand batarians without reaching that point, he had no business here. But if his panic broke Blaze, she was going to kick his ass.

Mirshowani himself kept blinking up at the clouds, wincing every time a wave swelled, but he powered through. If she hadn’t been paying attention, she’d have said he’d gone past fear almost to boredom. But for the occasional winces, he almost could have been lying on the dry beach instead of in the hated water. She was sending that up the chain. Alphabet had earned a point for that one.

“Look. It’s Poseidon,” he said. “It’s got a trident and everything. Definitely Poseidon. We’re screwed.”

“Not if I take him down,” her battle snickered.

“You’re just going to piss him off!” Alphabet said, his voice laced with fake horror.

“Next on ICT Live, smackdown between Hades and Poseidon. Who will win? Answers after this next _wave_ ,” Red warned with a chuckle.

Shepherd laughed, not even perturbed by the wave that covered them. “Like it’s a contest. Easy win.”

“You’re right,” Alphabet shot back with his own sputtering laugh. “Poseidon has it in the bag. We’re in his territory.”

If they could just get rid of Leng and Rheinscheld, this now had the potential to be a decent crew. If they got a decent replacement for Jones, maybe they’d get through the suck without too much shit. The bell rang, announcing his departure, but they ignored it. Who’d have fucking guessed that it would be Jones gone and Mirshowani still figuratively standing? Maybe he’d make it after all. 


	7. Lucky Strike

You're such a motivator, I gotta get you here. So sick of saying yes sir, yes sir. You're such an instigator, you wanna play the game. Take it or leave it, that's her, that's her.-"Lucky Strike" by Maroon 5

* * *

“Not this shite again?” Lukas groaned, walking up to his battle buddy. 

A small group had gathered outside the chow hall. Shepard stood on the edge of it with her arms crossed and an impatient look on her face. Blondie leaned against the wall, sobbing as if her life had ended in the last five minutes. 

Why the woman didn’t just ring out, he would never understand. She could end this misery. Walk over to the bloody bell, ring it, go home. She might have been able to hack the physical training, but if this was enough pressure to break her, he certainly didn’t want her at his six during a high-risk op. 

“Something set her off  _ yet _ again,” she said between gritted teeth. “I dunno what it was this time. The fucking pancakes probably had her husband’s face in them or something.” She exhaled sharply through her nose and shook her head. “ _ And _ I gotta deal with her. Swear to gods, I’m sending her to the instructors for review. This is bullshit.” 

She rolled her head on her shoulders and sighed. The scowl melted from her face and was instantly replaced by a look of understanding. She stepped forward and waved the crowd back. 

“Show’s over, guys. Back to chow.  _ Now _ . Bertram, Lucifer, you stay.” 

She went to Rheinscheld, gesturing for the woman to follow her to a spot far enough away that they could hear the tone but not the content of their conversation. Shepard placed a hand on Blondie’s shoulder, cocking her head to the side as she listened. Her voice carried over to them, friendlier than he’d ever guessed she could be. 

_ Who are you really, femShep, under all the facades? _

Blondie didn’t respond to it any better than she’d ever responded to anyone who tried to cheer her up. Shepard kept at it for long enough to have him urging to hurry the fuck up before they were late before stepping away. She dropped her hand and turned to face them, the compassion gone as quickly as it had appeared.

She waved a hand in the air as she approached him and muttered. “I can’t do a fucking thing with her. Think she’ll listen to you?”

“She’s a maungy git, Shep. What d’you think I can say to shut her up?” he grumbled at her. “The only thing she wants from me, I’m not interested in giving ‘er.” 

Bertram shook her head. “I just...I dunno, I’ve  _ never _ had to deal with a buddy like this before. Maybe in basic training, but not from a seasoned soldier,” she muttered, incredulous. “I mean, what do you even  _ do _ when she just randomly bursts into tears?”

Lukas rolled his eyes. Crying women weren’t his forte, but he didn’t get to leave until Shepard did. Maybe Bertram knew something they didn’t. 

“What sets her off?”

“I think it’s her email.”

“So maybe Jody’s found himself a Janey,” he shrugged. 

“Whatever the cause, for the love of goddamn Christ, that woman needs to pull up her fucking big girl panties and stop with the fucking whining or ring the fuck out. She’s worse than surf torture," Shepard sighed, exasperated. 

Bertram cleared her throat, and they looked over to see Rheinscheld behind them. Shepard mouthed ‘ _ Fuck _ ’ with a roll of her eyes. Rheinscheld stormed past them, crying again. 

_ Bang-up job, femShep. Champion leadership there. ‘Course, shit situational awareness from both of us, so who am I to talk? _

“Rheinscheld!” she called out, turning toward the blonde. The woman stopped, but didn’t face her. Shepard glanced over her shoulder at him and whispered, “Kirkland’s on the duty roster this morning, right?” He nodded. “Shit. He’ll just coddle her ass.” 

She frowned and turned back to the blonde. “Sick call.  _ Now _ . Go see the fuckin’ shrink, talk to a professional who can maybe help you deal with this shit because this is not the place or time. When you finish, get back to the squad. After chow this evening, report to DI Moreno for review. Bertram, make sure she actually  _ talks _ to someone.”

~*~*~*~

DI Moreno tapped commands into the haptic display, changing the layout of the holographic field before them. Lukas watched closely as the new terrain came into view. The classroom was a break from the bone-grinding PT they’d been doing almost nonstop, but just barely. The classroom shit on four hours of sleep was as draining mentally as PT was on the body. 

Rheinscheld’s arm brushed against his, and his jaw clenched. She wasn’t subtle, and he wasn’t interested. He didn’t fuck married women. Not because he had some grand moral objection to it— _ he _ hadn’t married the guy; he didn’t owe the husband anything—but because it led to too much trouble when he could get it elsewhere. 

When her fingers grazed his knuckles, he shifted closer to Shepard to get away from her. FemShep scowled over her shoulder at him, but when he cut his eyes to Blondie, his battle stepped forward. He nudged Shepard in gratitude and got an elbow bump against his belt buckle that made him grin. Thank fuck she wasn’t shorter.

“Rheinscheld. You’re up. Tactical assessment. Go.” 

The objective was a building containing important intel. Moreno called up an image of a Mako beside a cliff through which ran a narrow chasm. Luke cocked his head, doing his own internal assessment. There was a path, but the building would have to be approached on foot. Moreno then set up holos of hostiles within the corridor itself and snipers on the tops of the cliffs surrounding it. There was some cover, though he didn’t know how much good it would do with the snipers above.

_ Kill zone. Tread lightly. Those snipers have to go.  _

He’d overload the drones and use biotics to lift the snipers out of cover. Then he’d send his own sniper to take their place to provide cover. 

Beyond the chasm was a cluster of buildings guarded by mechs, including a single large anti-tank one. He couldn’t see a path around that wasn’t covered by the mech. They would have to face it on the ground if they wanted to get into the building with the intel. Even sending a cloaked infiltrator wasn’t an option since the door was encrypted. That heavy mech was priority.

“Select your team and infiltrate the building,” Moreno said, stepping back. 

Blondie glanced at DI Kirkland in the darkness beyond the display’s glow before directing avatars of herself and the Pastore twins. 

_ Interesting choice. Not the one I’d make if I was a sniper _ . 

Moreno immediately questioned her on it, and she said, “Jack is an engineer. Cat can overload shields and electronics. She isn’t just a sniper.” 

Shepard shook her head and muttered under her breath, “Not sound. She’s target-blind. Too much tech. Team’s imbalanced. No close-range. No biotics, and if one of the twins goes down, she’ll likely lose the other, too.” 

“That’s what I was thinking,” he whispered back.

Blondie moved the avatars through the chasm in a leapfrog pattern, then sent Jack and his drone in first to set up a defensive position and engage hostiles at close range. Not a terrible strategy, he had to admit. Blondie left Cat at the rear to cover their backs. Also logical given what she was working with, he begrudgingly thought. 

The holo avatars reached a wide area in the chasm where there were paths carved in the rock that led to the top. She directed Cat to one side of the cliffs while she went to the other. 

She said, “In this, um...situation, Jack with his turret and drone is worth three fighters on the ground. And then Cat and I can take out the snipers above, then use crossfire down into the valley to take out anything that he can’t handle.”

“Clean and surgical,” Cat said. “I like it.”

When they reached the outpost, Blondie directed the other two into place and took cover behind a large metal crate. “Now, what?” she muttered to herself. 

_ If you can’t think faster than that, lass, you’re buggered _ . 

After a moment, she nodded to herself and toggled a few action commands on the haptic interface. A chain overload from Cat took out the first wave of smaller mechs while she set up a sabotage for the second wave that would temporarily turn them to her side. Meanwhile, Jack’s turret provided cover fire for them. 

Blondie then turned the squad to face the heavy mech. After Cat and Jack wore down its shields, they used tech bursts to burn through its armor. 

Christ, he was bored. That took three times longer than it should have. When it was done, Moreno paused the display. 

“Alright,” he said, looking around at them. “What would you have done differently?”

“I…wouldn’t have done anything different, sir. I chose who I thought would best complement my own strengths and fit the situation. And we got it done.” 

She looked at Kirkland again. Her need for constant approval from the instructor was more suited to a basic trainee than a spec ops one. He’d have killed to get his hands on her service record. What had she done to earn her invite? It must have been something extraordinary for them to give it to someone so inexperienced.

Kirkland hemmed for a moment before saying, “That’s…one way to do it. You did accomplish the objective, but there’s always room for improvement. Anyone else want to take a stab at what could have been done better?”

Shepard shook her head again. “She may have succeeded, but she could have done it a lot easier if she hadn’t been so short-sighted. Enemies don’t always have to be faced head-on.” 

She stepped forward to take control of the avatars and directed the engineer to the flank. “You’re right that Gioachino is worth three fighters on the ground, Rheinscheld, but you wasted his potential. If you’d sent him  _ here _ , his turret could have held off the second wave of mechs while he and his drone divided the heavy mech’s attention. 

“Sabotaging the mechs first would have upped your numbers while they fought among themselves, minimizing the overall number of targets you had to fight and letting Caterina overload ‘em once the sabotage wore off. 

“While the smaller mechs were occupied, you could have focused on the real threat, taken it down, and then picked off the remaining stragglers with far less risk to yourself and your team. And given the proximity of the buildings in the compound, two snipers—even if one is heavily tech-based—is redundant. You’d have done better with someone more suited to close range to round out your team, preferably a biotic.”

_ Well, she did hold off ten thousand batarians by herself. She didn’t do it through brute strength alone _ .  _ Should’ve realized she was smart. _

“Ugh,” the male twin grimaced. “Just Jack, please. At least you said it right.”

Moreno nodded to Blondie. “You’re their leader. That doesn’t mean that you have to do the majority of the fighting even when you’re the least suited to do so. If this was a scenario involving numerous targets at a distance or where you could have utilized stealth, then it would be right for you to be the primary one to engage. You were  _ not  _ in this. 

“Smart tactics also entail knowing when to hold yourself back and fully utilize your team. Additionally, while a tech-heavy team is sensible, keep in mind that a strong biotic, like Shepard, can crush a heavy mech. Mechanical targets don’t necessitate a purely tech-based squad. Thinking outside the box is a useful skill here.”

She sniffled, and Kirkland stepped forward. “It’s not  _ wrong. _ Just try to see that there isn’t always just one answer to a question, or one solution to a problem,” Kirkland said, and Lukas heard his battle’s disgusted sigh. 

_ Agreed, lit'le girl.  _

“Oh…okay,” Blondie wavered, rubbing her nose and giving the instructor a wan smile. 

Luke stifled a laugh. Shepard had turned her head under the guise of adjusting a strap on her side but he caught her rolling her eyes before straightening up again. 

~*~*~*~

The crush of people immediately outside the barracks was annoying as shite as Lukas tried to shove his way to the entrance. His datapad was up in the room and he needed it for the next class. Shepard was lost in the crowd. 

They’d planned to stop by the smoker’s pit before, but if the crowd didn’t thin out, they’d lose their chance. It wasn’t unusual to have high traffic in and out of the barracks, but this was bizarre. They were all clustered together, and he didn’t recognize all of the upturned faces in the group. It occurred to him that the hush over the crowd was unnatural. He tracked their attention and did a double take.

It was Rheinscheld.

And she was standing on the sixth floor open air walkway wall.


	8. Whatever It Takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Suicide

Falling too fast to prepare for this. Tripping in the world could be dangerous. Everybody circling, it's vulturous. Negative, nepotist. Everybody waiting for the fall of man. Everybody praying for the end of times. -“Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons

* * *

Red slipped into place beside Shepherd, following the direction of his gaze. Rheinscheld was on the railing of the walkway between the barracks and CQ. Alone. Where the hell was Bertram? Where were the instructors? She cursed and began pushing through the crowd with Shepherd at her six. She ordered the soldiers ahead of her to move and they parted, leaving Red and Shepherd at the front of the press of bodies. 

She was team lead. Shit like this was part of her job, but there was no way she’d be able to get up to her in time and she didn’t have the first clue what to say to the damn woman to talk her down. There was a reason for the dashed lines on the inside of her wrists. The idea of cutting through the perforations was so ridiculous that it was enough to snap her out when the memories became too strong. When she got to that point, nothing anyone else could say would change her mind. What she _could_ do, though, was buy time for someone better equipped to arrive. Blondie was an attention whore. She could use that. 

“Alphabet, get the instructors!” she snapped.

“Bertram’s already gone,” he said without taking his eyes off the woman.

“Rheinscheld, wait!” she called up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you care, Shepard?” Blondie shouted back, her face twisting in a grimace. “You _hate_ me! You probably _want_ me to jump!”

“I don’t hate you,” Red replied. Blondie annoyed her, but really, she felt nothing toward the woman. She was a nuisance, an obstacle to work around, nothing more. “I push you hard because I see your potential. Look, get down and we’ll talk about this, alright?”

“There’s nothing to fucking talk about!” Blondie wailed. “My life is _over_! I fail at _everything_!”

“If you’re done with ICT, fine. Ring the damn bell! But you don’t get to spend almost two months crying over how much you miss your family and then leave them permanently. Get down from there and _go home,_ Rheinscheld!”

“I don’t _have_ one!” Blondie screeched down at her. “He _left me!_ He found another woman and he took my baby and he _left_!”

“Oh, shit,” Red muttered, glancing over her shoulder at Shepherd. That was a problem beyond her paygrade.

Her battle raised his eyebrows at her with an almost imperceptible shrug. “Guess Jody did get a Janey.”

Where the hell were the damn instructors? Around them, people called out ‘Don’t do it,’ ‘It isn’t worth it,’ and other meaningless platitudes. They might as well save their breath. If Blondie really wanted to do this, none of that shit was going to change her mind. It just made them feel better so that later they could say they tried and feel sorry for themselves without having to put in any real effort.

Scenarios like this were covered in OCS. Red wracked her brain for the techniques that had been taught. Make a personal connection, build a rapport, keep them talking. She hadn’t managed to build a rapport with Blondie in the seven weeks they’d been here, but she hadn’t tried. 

Red didn’t particularly care if she jumped; however, she didn’t relish the idea of taking orders from another member of the boat crew. If she lost one of her people, she’d be stripped of her position. Del Rio, or maybe Shepherd, she could handle, but gods forbid, what if they chose Leng instead? Besides, they needed to get to class and the sooner this was done, the sooner she could continue with her day.

She had to build a connection and it had to be a good one. Which meant announcing information about herself, letting them see her weakness. But no one knew her history. She could say anything. She didn’t have to tell the truth. She just had to make Blondie believe it. She’d been lying about her background her entire adult life. Hell, Thane had provided her with a perfect backstory.

“Look, uh…” She dropped her voice. “What’s her first name?”

“Jessica,” Shepherd answered blithely, staring up at her with the same idle curiosity as a person watching a coin flip in the air when they had no stake in the outcome. 

“ _Jessica_. Your son’s still here. He may not live with you right now, but that doesn’t really change anything from the way it stands now and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t still need you. You can trust me on that. My parents died a few years ago. That’s why I joined the Alliance. And I still miss my mom every goddamn day.”

“He won’t miss me,” Blondie sniveled, but she’d crouched on the ledge rather than standing on it and was no longer looking at the concrete. The people around them had fallen silent, even their breathing softened, creating the illusion that it was just her and Blondie. “He’s only three. He won’t even remember me.”

“Yeah, he will,” she said, thinking of her real mother. “He’ll remember your voice talking to him. And when he’s walking down the street and smells something that smells like you, he’ll get flashes of you and he’ll miss you. If nothing else, he’ll feel the void you leave. No one else is going to be able to step in and take that place, no matter how much they try.” Tuco’s mom had tried with Red and had failed. “He needs you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Blondie whimpered. “No one needs me. I can’t even get a stupid training exercise right! I failed at being a wife. I failed at being a mom. I’m failing at ICT.” Rheinscheld stood again, inching closer to the edge. She ran the back of her hand under her nose, her sniffle echoing around the concrete walls.

“Because you haven’t really _tried_ ,” Red said as the door to the sixth floor barracks banged open. Kirkland barreled through with Bertram hard on his heels. Blondie’s head snapped around to look at them and she moved closer to the edge. _Get her attention back, Red._ “You haven’t had a single day when you’ve really been here and put your all into it. You’re still back home with them. That isn’t going to cut it here. You’ve got to put your big girl panties on and deal with it.”

“Screw you, Shepard!” Blondie shouted, her eyes darting between Red and Kirkland. “You’re so full of it. You don’t feel shit about _anything_. You’re dead inside!” She moved closer to the edge until the toes of her boots were visible over it, and shouted for Kirkland and Bertram to stay back.

“You’re right!” Red called out. “I am. Have been since my family died. But I’m still here. I haven’t quit yet. The difference is that your family isn’t dead, Jess! It’s just been rearranged a little.”

“My family is a _lie_ , Shepard! He’s been cheating on me the whole time we were together!” Blondie bawled. 

_Well, that explains her obsession with Shepherd and del Rio._ Maybe mShep was the better choice to talk to her. She looked up at him to ask when the crowd gasped. The shouts of horror and shocked expressions on their faces told her without looking what had happened. 

She watched Shepherd’s clear blue eyes track the fall. The body landed with a thud behind her, blood spattering onto their boots and pant legs. Shepherd’s face remained impassive. He could have been watching a piece of fruit lobbed onto the concrete for all the reaction he gave. As if belatedly realizing that he was supposed to display _something_ , he glanced around, taking in the shock and horror. 

Alphabet stood a few feet away, his mouth parted slightly and his gray eyes wide. Cat had her hand over her mouth and moisture welling in her eyes. Beside her, her brother, Jack, had a firm grip on her hand and his eyes were distant. Cat buried her face in his shoulder and he looped an arm around hers, holding her tightly. Del Rio blanched, swallowing hard and glancing between the body and the cement half-wall she’d jumped from. His hand reached out and found Alphabet’s waiting for it, confirming her suspicions about them. Even Leng’s typical sneer had turned to a grimace of disgust as he looked down at the gray matter on his boot. 

Shepherd turned his gaze down to his uniform, casually flicking a clump of tissue from his thigh, muttering, “Never a dull moment, is there?” 

Red’s eyes widened slightly, and she bit back the grin that tried to curl her lips. That motherfucker. He was faking it just as much as she was. No wonder they’d started to click recently. 

_Like sees like_. _Even when it doesn’t realize it at first._

Extreme PTSD? Made sense, given what she knew of his history. She’d been diagnosed in rehab, blamed on the Blitz and the supposed loss of her parents. She’d give a good amount of credits to look at his psych profile, but it didn’t matter what the label was. He was like her. 

Which meant she didn’t have to hide it with him. _What a fucking relief_. No more faking emotion she didn’t feel. No more pretending to be ‘normal’. Hell, he’d probably feel more comfortable with her without all the pretense. And unless he was an utter and total psychopath, he could still form connections, too, which meant it was still possible that they could truly have each other’s six. 

Hell, if the bond that was starting to form was reciprocated, he might actually be the first _real_ , ride-or-die battle buddy she’d had. She just had to figure out how much was acting and how much was genuine.

Above them, Kirkland still lay over the ledge, his arm dangling down with a scrap of fabric between his fingers. Bertram’s hands were braced on the railing, and she looked down at the body splattered on the ground below. Even from here, Red could see that the blood had drained from her face and her shoulders were shaking. 

Red finally turned her attention to the body that had landed a few feet from her. She cocked her head, evaluating. From the angle, she judged that Blondie had taken a swan dive. Her skull had ruptured like a melon on contact with the concrete, and her body splayed at unnatural angles over it. It wasn’t the worst she’d seen. 

Moreno ran along the line, his arms spread, trying to push them back. His olive skin paled at the sight of the body and his chin trembled for an instant before firming. 

“Back! Everybody _back_. Show’s over. Report to your barracks until further notice!” he ordered. 

Red caught Shepherd’s eye and gestured with her head. It seemed class was cancelled for the day. The break would give them time to catch up on their studying, detail the room for inspection tomorrow, and maybe even get a little extra rest. Hell Week started on Monday, and they’d need all they could get to get through it. 

Kaidan had given her an idea of what to expect. Five days, four total hours of sleep. Constant activity otherwise. Breaks, if they came, would be earned by winning and short-lived. If they made it through the week, they’d officially be N1 soldiers and have a real shot at getting to at least N6. It would still be hard as shit, but they were virtually guaranteed to see graduation after that. 

Alphabet and del Rio came up to them as she and Shepherd walked away from the scene. Face pale, Alphabet placed a hand on her shoulder and she fought the urge to shrug it off. He was crew and had proven himself thus far. It was fine. His features softened. 

“You did your best.”

What was he expecting? What was the appropriate response here? Guilt? Remorse? She couldn’t feel that, but she could approximate it. 

She sighed, letting her shoulders drop. “My best wasn’t good enough, was it?”

“You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved,” he said, lightly chafing her upper arm before letting his hand drop. “Not your fault.”

 _No shit, Sherlock_.

~*~*~

“…just fucking awful.” del Rio murmured, “I mean, I knew she had problems, but to do this? I’ll never understand it.” 

“Hm?” Lukas asked. 

“Rheinscheld. Her swan dive.”

_I’d give it a 7. Good form. Terrible landing._

“Tactful as always,” Alphabet sighed at del Rio. 

“Oh…” Luke blinked. “That. Yeah. Sucks, really.” 

Del Rio nudged him. “You ok? I know you guys were tight, but it’s not your fault. I turned her down just as much as you did.”

He cocked an eyebrow. _Tight? Hell, no_ . Blondie clinging and Lukas trying to cheer her up a time or two so she’d quit mithering him did not mean they were _tight_. 

“She drove me up a bloody wall.” 

Alphabet’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “So that’s why they call you Lucifer.”

Lukas sighed. Too harsh. Too honest. He liked the nickname, though. “Sorry, pal… I won’t pretend I liked her. But I’m not glad she’s dead. I was hoping she’d ring out.” 

Del Rio said quietly, “He’s not wrong. She drove us all a little crazy. Is it more disrespectful to be honest about that or to pretend otherwise?”

That seemed to placate Alphabet. The trip to their room was blessedly silent. When the door shut behind them, Shepard visibly relaxed, perching on the end of her bed to strip off her boots.

“Well. That was intense,” she said casually. She could as easily have been talking about the latest blockbuster as Blondie’s swan dive.

“Foolish is what it was,” he muttered, stripping out of his soiled uniform. “Foolish to get so attached to a person that cracking your melon open seems preferable to moving on without ‘em.” 

“Agreed. Hell Week’s gonna suck. We’re two short now.” She stripped her own fatigue pants off, carefully balling them up and carrying them into the bathroom. “And we can’t make it up from the other teams.”

“Like you always say. ‘Adapt and overcome,’” he sighed, throwing himself onto the bed. “Good thing Torres was off today. She’d have had us down there with shovels and gloves, and the gloves only if she was in a good mood.” 

“Yeah,” she agreed, leaning a shoulder against the doorway and gesturing to herself. “I need a shower. Didn’t get back far enough.”

“Don’t hold off on my account.” He peeled off his shirt and tossed it on top of his pants beside the bed; laundry could wait just this once. 

“Ok, I won’t,” she said, amused. 

He glanced over just in time to catch her eyeing him before tugging her own shirt off and shaking her long, red hair free from its neat bun. It flowed in fiery waves through her fingers as she collected all the hairpins in her palm before tossing her curls over her shoulder and sauntering into the bathroom. The door closed behind her, and he stared at it a moment. Short of blushing at her omni-tool that one time, that was the most feminine thing he’d ever seen her do. 

_Holy shite_. _She is a girl._


	9. Chapter 9

It's a cruel, cruel world. No mercy left, yeah it's a cruel, cruel world. It'll break your heart and burn you down, down, down. Don't ever doubt that it's a cruel, cruel world. “Cruel World” by Tommee Profitt ft Sam Tinnesz

* * *

<Chat Request>  
<to: kyalenko@alliance.xnet>   
<from: krshepard@alliance.xnet

<KS: One of my crew jumped from a balcony yesterday.>

<KA: Oh, my God. I am so sorry. Are you ok? Did you see it?>

<KS: I’m alright. Yeah. She landed a couple feet away. I was trying to talk her down and one of the instructors moved on her at the wrong moment.>

<KA: Jesus, Kate. That’s terrible. It’s not your fault, you know.>

<KS: I know. She made her choice. The bell was right by the door. She could have rung it a hundred times. She’d made the decision before she even climbed the stairs. I doubt I could have changed her mind even if Kirkland hadn’t moved.>

<KA: Damn. I don’t know what to say. And right before Hell Week, too.>

<KS: Yeah. Between Samuels ringing out during night passage and Rheinscheld, we’re two short on our boat crew in a matter of days. I don’t know where they’re going to pull from, though. The other crews all have eight. One team’s going to be short regardless unless they pull from another platoon.>

<KA: How’s the rapport between the ones that are left?>

<KS: Outside of Leng, we’re coming together. It’s just my battle, the aquaphobic guy—who’s been rocking surf torture lately, by the way—del Rio, Alphabet, and Bertram. And I wouldn’t be surprised if she rings out, too.>

<KA: She’s going to need an abundance of fortitude to get through it. And so are you. If they leave your team short, it won’t be for the entirety of Hell Week. People drop like flies that week, so the teams will be in constant flux. It’ll just be a matter of holding out until the numbers allow for people to slide in. It won’t be easy. Don’t expect considerations for it. You’ll just have to remember to work smarter, not harder. Sleep and eat this weekend. If you’re awake, you need to be eating, even if it’s just nutrigel. It’s the advice I’d give regardless, but it’s even more important now. Everything will be harder with fewer people to share the load.>

<KS: Your instructor’s coming out.>

<KA: Heh, sorry. Easier to turn to that sometimes. Stay focused. Losing a crewmember is hard, but don’t let it take you out of the game. I still believe in you and I’m still proud of you.>

<KS: Thanks, K. Miss you.>

<KA: Miss you, too. I requested my class schedule for the year. We’ll see if any of our breaks line up when I get it.>

<KS: Sounds good. Gotta run. Just got to the smoker’s pit and Alphabet looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. Fill you in later.>

  
  


“Did you hear the news?” Alphabet asked when she closed her omni-tool. 

“What news?” she asked. 

“Rheinscheld wasn’t even supposed to _be_ here,” he said. “There was an admin screw-up somewhere along the line. Apparently, _Jennifer_ Rheinscheld was the one supposed to get the invite. Their service numbers are one off from each other. A six instead of a nine or something like that. Anyway, regardless of the reason, she was never intended to be invited. Which explains why she couldn’t handle it. I’m honestly surprised she got this far.”

“Where’d you hear that from?” Shepherd asked skeptically. 

“Cat overheard Moreno and Kirkland talking,” del Rio said quietly, coming up to Alphabet. “We were talking shop at chow yesterday after it… _after_ ,” he swallowed. Alphabet gently bumped the other man, surreptitiously linking their pinkie fingers together for a moment. Red quirked an eyebrow at them.

“FemShep!” Kirkland’s voice cut through their discussion. She turned to find him glowering at her. “Report to the board for review!” 

_Fuck_. She’d been expecting it, but that didn’t make hearing the order any easier. Review board. Where the cadre would scrutinize every call she’d made with Rheinscheld over the past seven weeks and then decide her fate. She could be kicked out, rolled back, stripped of her position, any number of things. She had no control over what happened next. Shepherd cast a look down at her as they fell in behind Kirkland.

The DI led them through HQ and gestured to one of the meeting rooms and disappeared into his office. She squared her shoulders before going into the nondescript room. Drill Instructors Torres, Moreno, and Williams waited at a wide metal folding table with datapads stacked in front of them. Their faces were as expressionless as she’d expected them to be, giving no sign as to how this would go. 

Torres was a wild card. She hated Shepherd, but her vitriol didn’t seem to extend to Red except as collateral damage. She suspected the woman felt even less than she or Shepherd did and recognized what Red herself had only recently seen. For some reason, she didn’t mind Red, but seemed determined to break Luke. Would she see this as another step toward that goal? If she did, Red could count on her opposition.

Moreno was nothing if not fair. He was likely to listen to everything she said and go with the evidence. If he had hidden agendas, she hadn’t uncovered them yet. He didn’t play favorites and he didn’t take things personally. His entire goal at least appeared to be to get as many of them through the program as he could. It wasn’t unheard of for him to slip a ration bar to a fading cadet or to call one who was struggling into his office for counseling. He was one of the hands-down favorites.

Williams, she didn’t know except by sight. He’d been pulled from one of the other platoons, probably to serve as a neutral party. Tall, dark-skinned, lean but for the muscle roping his forearms, he gave the appearance of being stern but patient. His hands were folded in front of him and the brown eyes that met hers were calm and direct. If her evaluation of him was right, she might have a chance at not being dismissed.

Torres shuffled her datapads and began. “Staff Lieutenant Shepard, I assume you know why you’re here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she answered, shifting her gaze to look at the stern blonde. 

When the light hit right, Red could pick up the gray strands buried in her close-cropped hair and the thin lines bracketing narrow lips set in a square jaw. Likely in her late forties, the instructor nevertheless kept up with even the youngest cadets. 

“And why is that, Lieutenant?”

“A member of my boat crew committed suicide yesterday, ma’am.” As if it needed to be said. There was nothing else they could call her to task on.

Moreno cocked his head and steepled his fingers. “Second Lieutenant Rheinscheld jumped from the sixth story walkway, Shepard, and we’ve gotten reports that the two of you had been at odds recently. Your performance both in PT and classroom work has been excellent. We’re seeing your team begin to come together under your guidance. But now one of your crew is dead. Drill Instructor Kirkland feels that your leadership is an indirect cause. We’d like to find out if that’s the case.”

She didn’t respond. If they asked her a direct question, she would answer, but they wouldn’t get anything more than she had to give. She had done nothing wrong, but if they were on a witch hunt, she needed to be cautious in her answers. 

Williams said quietly, “You don’t seem overly affected by this, Lieutenant.” His brow furrowed when she didn’t respond. “I’m waiting, Shepard.”

“I didn’t realize there was a question, sir,” she said.

“I’d like an explanation,” he replied, briefly lifting one of his hands from the other.

There were areas in which she would feel comfortable revealing her condition, but at the moment, telling them that Blondie had meant as little to her as the table at which they sat did to them would likely be unwise. 

She took a moment to gather her thoughts before saying, “Sir, on Elysium, I watched the soldiers I’d rallied die to the last man. I watched civilians die in droves. If I broke down every time someone died under my watch, I wouldn’t be able to function and support the remaining members of my team. They’re looking to me to get them through this, and that means I have to be solid for them. I handle my personal feelings on my own time.”

 _There_. All factually if not functionally true statements. Never mind that she _wouldn’t_ break down over someone dying under her watch. If she did, she wouldn’t be fit to do her job. 

Moreno said, “When Lieutenant Rheinscheld and I spoke, she stated that she had attempted to discuss her issues with you, but you had faked sympathy and then made derisive remarks about her to your battle buddy in front of her. Is that true?” 

Red said, “Sir, I found Rheinscheld crying outside the mess hall and attempted to counsel her again. She was resistant, so I walked away and expressed frustration to my battle buddy in what I believed to be a private conversation. I wasn’t aware that Lieutenant Rheinscheld was within earshot. I admit my situational awareness in that scenario was less than stellar, but it wasn’t my intention to disparage her within her hearing. When I realized she’d overheard, I sent her to sick call to speak with a therapist and referred her to you after training.” 

Torres tapped the screen on one of her datapads. “Instructor Kirkland said that before she jumped, you told Lieutenant Rheinscheld to ‘pull up her big girl panties and deal with it.’ What made you think that was an appropriate statement to make to a woman standing on a ledge preparing to jump?”

That one was easy and could lead to a thread of conversation in which she could turn the failure back onto them where it ultimately belonged. “Ma’am, Rheinscheld was focusing on Instructor Kirkland and moving closer to the edge to put space between them. I thought that if I could return her attention to me, she would pay less attention to him, giving him time to get to her. I had already attempted to connect with her over similar life circumstances. I’d attempted to reassure her. 

“At that point, I felt the quickest recourse would be to shock her enough that she would focus on me again. The point that I was making and what he didn’t hear was that she had spent her time here dwelling on her family rather than training, which I believe contributed to her emotional state.”

Moreno said, “What would you say _ultimately_ caused the breakdown?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

That was the opening she needed. She drew her chin up and said, “Sir, if the rumors I’ve heard are accurate, Rheinscheld was never meant to be in this program to begin with. Her presence was an error. She didn’t have the skills or the experience to handle the training. Additionally, she has been displaying signs of depression from the first day. She’d been counseled by her battle buddy, Lieutenant Shepherd, myself, the cadre, and at least one therapist. If she was in a condition where overhearing me issue a complaint to my battle buddy against her was enough to make her suicidal, then that should have been identified and she should have been removed from the program weeks ago. 

“I failed as her team lead, but the cadre and medical staff failed her as well. Had I been aware that her problems were as deep-seated as I now realize, I would have taken additional steps to make that happen, but I’m not a trained therapist and she failed to give me all of the information I would have needed to make that determination. This was a multi-faceted problem that required a multi-level response that unfortunately was not given.”

Williams nodded once. “Step out of the room, please.”

She went out to the hallway where Shepherd waited and leaned a shoulder against the wall. The instructors were barely audible in the background, but she made a strained and failed attempt to hear their deliberations. A quick glance at Luke showed him raising his eyebrows at her. She shrugged back at him. _Worth a shot to try to hear. Like you wouldn’t, Lucifer._

“Lieutenant Shepard.” Williams’ voice summoned her from within the room. She raised a brow at Shepherd and shrugged before returning to the cadre.

When she stood at parade rest in front of them again, Moreno said, “We’ve discussed the matter and find you not at fault in Lieutenant Rheinscheld’s suicide. Your indiscretion aside, you handled the situation as well as you possibly could. You will remain in the program and retain your position as team lead.”

“Thank you, sirs, ma’am.”

Torres inclined her head. “Dismissed.”

~*~*~*~

Shepard came out of the room, face carefully blank and exhaling slowly. Lukas raised his eyebrows at her, matching pace with her. At least it was over.

“That went as well as could be expected, at least.”

“Definitely not as bad as it could have,” she muttered. 

“Shepards. My office. _Now_.”

Kirkland’s voice rang out, hard and foreboding. They about-faced and followed him down the hall, sharing an exasperated look. Kirkland slammed the door behind them and stalked over in front of Shepard. If looks could kill…. This wasn’t going to be good. 

“You fucking grab-ass-tic piece of _shit_ , the fuck were you goddamn thinking, Shepard? Did it never goddamn _occur_ to you to drag her ass into my office and maybe say, ‘Hey, DI, she needs fucking help’? Or did you just not give a shit?” 

He bent down in front of her, close enough that his campaign cover cut a line in her forehead. She kept her face blank, not giving him the reaction he desperately wanted, and stared at the instructor’s nametape. 

_That’s right, lit'le girl. Rock steady. That's the way._

“You’re the fucking team lead,” Kirkland hissed in her face. “Now one of your people is _dead,_ and it’s your goddamn fault! Was your brain even turned _on_ , Shepard, or do I need to wipe your ass for you, too? If I had it my way, you’d be out of this goddamn program _yesterday_! Why the hell didn’t you call for one of us? What was running through that tiny little brain of yours that made you decide that _insulting her_ was the appropriate course of fucking action? If you’d just kept your goddamn mouth shut, I’d have gotten her down.”

Shepard continued to stare blankly at his nametape, letting him rant. With Torres up his arse and Kirkland gunning for hers, surviving Hell Week just got a lot tougher.

“I _will_ see to it that you fail, Shepard. I don’t give a shit about that shiny fucking star on your uniform. The brass can say what they want. ‘Hero’ or not, you’ll be out of my program by the end of Hell Week, guaran-fucking- _teed_. Now, get the _fuck_ out of my sight.” 

Kirkland finally backed off, an ugly sneer twisting his face as they performed a sharp about-face to leave. Something about that look raised the hairs on the back of Lukas’ neck. Kirkland wasn’t done. He was just waiting for the right moment to dish out some exquisitely painful punishment to get the reaction he wanted from her. 

“Oh, and Shepard?” Kirkland said silkily. Lukas’ fists clenched in secondhand anticipation. “Cut your goddamn hair. It’s out of regs.” 

Lukas would have missed the almost imperceptible falter in her step if he hadn’t known how she moved as well as he did by now. He had to hand it to her, though, her voice was steady as it ever was with her quiet reply. 

“Aye aye, sir.” 

_Good girl. Don't let 'im see you bleed._

~*~*~*~ 

When they returned to their room, Shepard disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. Lukas left her alone, figuring he’d take advantage of the extra time to study. Alphabet had mentioned catching up on sleep, but Lukas rarely slept at the best of times. He’d just stare at the ceiling if he tried now, so even though his body and mind were exhausted, he might as well study.

Nearly an hour later, the door was still closed and silence reigned from the bathroom. Not a _schick_ from the blades snipping through hair, not a click of metal on the counter when she put them down, no humming under her breath as she had a habit of doing. 

It amused him to no end to hear her whistling ‘Rockin’ Robin’ while she tore into a punching bag. _Tweet tweet tweet, tweet tweedledy-deet, go rockin’ robin ‘cause we’re really gonna rock tonight._ Oldies weren’t exactly something he’d have associated with her. But he listened to country music from the last century, so who was he to judge? At least she liked his music, too.

For her to be silent was concerning. Shepard was a vanguard through and through. If she wasn’t moving, she was preparing to move. Which direction and what the damage would be when she arrived at her destination were questions that brought him off the bed and striding across the room to check on her. 

Wouldn’t it suck ass if he opened the door and found she’d followed the macabre lines tattooed on her wrists instead of her hair? He didn’t _actually_ think she’d do it. She wasn’t Rheinscheld. She’d made it this far without doing anything stupid, so she likely wasn't going to. As far as he knew, her skin was smooth and unscarred under the ink, but he hadn’t looked for it. He knocked on the door, trying to remember if he’d seen scars when he’d taped her hands before. 

“It’s open,” came the dull response. 

Lukas pushed open the door to see her staring bleakly at herself in the mirror, hair loose to her waist, twisting one lock between her fingers, scissors in the other hand. He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms and resting his head against the jamb. The blades of the scissors held a fine tremor as she slowly brought the curl up to meet them. 

_Schick_.

Fire fluttered into the sink, her jaw tightening with steely resignation, gaze locked on the ribbon of red in the white basin of the sink. _So she’s human after all. That's not ice water running through all her veins, then._ He hadn’t realized anything mattered enough to her to get an emotional response. She felt as little as he did. 

“You okay?” he asked softly. 

“Peachy keen, jelly bean,” she said tightly, her shoulders slumping a little more. “It’s just a haircut, right?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, looking her over. 

She was always small, but her personality and carriage made her seem larger than life most of the time. He forgot how little she was until she was right beside him. But now, retreated into herself as she was, she seemed downright tiny. Vulnerable. An unfamiliar protectiveness stirred in his chest. 

“You want me to do it?”

“Why would you care?” she asked suspiciously, catching his eye in the mirror.

“You’re my battle. I got your six.”

She chewed her lip for a moment before uncertainly holding the shears up with the handle toward him. “Sure. Why not?”

He peeled away from the door and took the scissors, moving behind her and tipping her head forward. She sighed shakily under the writhing mass of flame in his hand, but she let him move her without resistance. Good. 

“How short?”

“Part of me says just within regs as a ‘fuck you’ to him. This is a war I can only win by graduating, though, not by indulging in petty rebellions. Take it to the shoulders.” Her words were bold, but her voice was as small as she was.

“Okay,” he said softly, letting most of it slide through his fingers like warm silk. Pity. Her hair was his favorite feature. “It’ll grow back,” he said lamely, snipping at the underlayer.

“I know that,” she retorted.

“No shite, Sherlock. I just…” he sighed, snipping again. 

He was no hairstylist, so the ends were too blunted, but the curls at least kept it from looking like she’d hacked it off with her ka-bar. 

“Just what?”

“Fucked if I know. Trying to be supportive, I guess.”

She lifted her chin a bit and scowled at him in the mirror. “Since when do _you_ give a shit? Thought I was just the token fucking show pony.”

He snorted. “The one's got nothing to do with the other. Look down.” She dropped her chin to her chest again and he moved carefully to the left. “You’re still my battle, and you’re not _just_ anythin'.”

 _Snip, snip, snip_. Cascades of flaming curls carpeted the cold tile at their feet. What a fucking waste. Damn Kirkland and his bloody vendetta. It hadn’t stopped her from training. It hadn’t gotten in the way. There was no reason for it to be lying on the floor now except for his damaged pride.

“…Feels like cutting the braid off a Dothraki,” she whispered. He snorted again at that. They had the same taste in books. “Did you know that cutting a woman’s hair was a punishment in Victorian times? And for women who ‘collaborated’ with the Germans during World War II. Meaning ‘fucked them.’” 

“I did,” he replied quietly. 

“You must think I’m vain.”

“No. Every culture I can think of places significance in a drastic or forced cutting of hair.” He rotated her head gently to the other side, combing his fingers through it and clipping the stragglers that shook out. “Kirkland knew exactly what he was doing. Making you do it like this, it’s…like rape in a way. A forcible display of his power over you. ‘e’s literally removing a part of you against your will with the sole purpose of ‘urting you.” 

His accent thickened so much on the last bit that he wasn’t sure she could understand him. The whole thing pissed him off more than he’d realized. 

“Huh…” She peered at him in the mirror underneath the curtain of red hair falling forward over her face. “It still feels stupid to bitch about it. Men have to cut theirs a lot shorter than women do. And it _is_ too long, but only by an inch. It just hasn’t been a priority. I’d have probably decided to do it on my own, honestly. The shit’s heavy when it’s wet and sandy. 

“But being _forced_ to do it…. Like you said, it’s a part of my damn body he’s making me cut off because he’s pissed at his own failure and…you’re right. It feels like a violation.” Her hands curled into fists on the sink. “I haven’t done more than trim it since before I joined up.”

He ran his fingers through her hair again. Not perfect, but not so bad the barber couldn’t shape it up and make it look like she’d meant to do it. 

Shepard stared grimly at herself in the mirror. Her chin trembled for a heartbeat before she locked her jaw, shoving it down. 

Fucking Kirkland. If he ever caught that cunt in a back alley, there was going to be hell to pay. 

“Wait here…” He grabbed his toiletry kit from the room and brought it back, putting it beside hers and rummaging around in it.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, scooping up handfuls of hair that looked duller now that they weren’t attached to her. Like they’d lost all their shine when she wasn’t able to make them burn.

He pulled out his clippers, running his fingers over his own scalp. “We’re about to go into Hell Week, yeah?” She nodded. “Well, warriors often cut their hair to prepare for battle. We’re about to walk through fire.” He handed the clippers to her. “Need a trim mi’sen.”

She looked down at the clippers in her hand and back up at him, her eyes shining. She nodded once. 

“Gonna need you on my level, big guy,” she said softly.

Lukas snorted, biting back a grin. “First lass to get me on my knees, lit'le girl,” he snickered, kneeling for her. 

He tipped his head forward, considering warning her about the amp port. She was a biotic. She got it. Even people who liked amp play during sex wouldn’t generally care for clippers buzzing against it.

“I’ve never, uh, never done this before,” she said with a hint of a smirk, turning the clippers on. “Can’t be that hard, but stop me if I start to do it wrong.” Her hand ran lightly over his scalp, her touch almost tender, before placing the clippers against his head and shaving a smooth line.

“I’ve faith in you. But if you leave me with patches or stripes, I’ll fix it meself and shave you fuzzy.”

“Then Torres’ll call me Lieutenant Peach Fuzz instead of Short Stuff. Have you ever seen a redhead with their head shaved before?”

“Nay.” 

Shepard’s face relaxed the more she ran the clippers over his head in steady, sure paths. 

_That’s me girl. Adapt and overcome._

“It grows in _orange_ , Lucifer. Not sexy,” she chuckled. 

“Guess you should get it right the first time then, yeah?” 

The clippers shut off, and she caught his gaze in the mirror again, wiping her palm over his fresh buzz cut. His hair clippings sprinkled the floor on top of hers.

“I guess so.” She slapped his clippers back in his palm. “Thanks, mShep.”

“You’re welcome, femShep.”


End file.
